Fate: Khaoskampf
by Diablo Interceptor
Summary: After the Fifth Holy Grail War's disastrous end, the Mage's Association has outlawed Grail Wars, due to the massive amounts of devastation such rituals left in their wake. But, a secret Grail War is about to take place, where two teams of Masters and Servants will fight to the bitter end. Amid ever-shifting alliances and internally warring, who will emerge as the victor?
1. It All Ends In Fire

_**Prologue: It All Ends In Fire** _

_Podkamennaya Tunguska River Basin, Central Siberia_

 _30 June 1908_

Arkadi Lavrentiy limped through a maze of ruined trees, as he clutched his stomach with both hands; trying to prevent his entrails from spilling out. Lavrentiy looked like he'd fallen in front of a cattle stampede and managed to get caught by every horn and hoof. Open gashes dominated his cheeks and chin while his blood reddened eyes fought off the lure of sleep, swollen to the point of closure. A large splash of blood ran from his collarbone to his navel, dyeing Lavrentiy's dull grey oblique-collared and belt-chined shirt a deep shade of crimson.

A sulphurous wind blasted into Lavrentiy, as he trudged onwards and ignored invisible blazing fingers jabbing into his exposed face, his mind having receded into semi-consciousness. All around him, the charred trunks of limbless pine trees pointed into space, like accusing fingers while great columns of thick black smoke drifted across a perfect blue afternoon sky. But sightseeing was the last thing on Lavrentiy's mind right now, for he was busy wondering how everything had all gone wrong.

Decades of careful planning and research, studying the Five Magics and collaborating with the brightest Magi Lavrentiy knew had all been for nothing. Lavrentiy spent many sleepless days and nights reading through countless essays and journals detailing the various Magics loaned from the Mage's Association's vast literature collection, page by page, combing through every document. When he wasn't deprived of sleep or assimilating new knowledge into his mind, Lavrentiy spent his spare time consulting with his fellow Magi, discussing what he had learnt from his lengthy study sessions.

And yet his efforts had brought nothing but death and destruction.

Right now, the past was a luxury, and all Lavrentiy could see was a darkened blanket of despair rolling over everything he had ever worked for. Tremor after tremor of pain ran down Lavrentiy's spine as hobbled over the singed and ash-coated corpse of a fallow deer buck, taking great care to not stumble over it. The buck's flesh-stripped skull was tilted upwards in a frozen shriek of terror along with its bloodied ribs.

A lone pine tree loomed before him, branches stripped of all leaves and silhouetted against the sky like beckoning arms. With what little energy that remained in him, Lavrentiy guided himself towards the tree and sat down against it's trunk. His lips quivered, as tears welled up in his eyes and ran down his face. Was this how it was all going to end? Would Arkadi Lavrentiy, scion of House Lavrentiy fated to die in the freezing Siberian wastes all alone?

A chorus of wolf howls bounced around in the woods in the distance. The sound cut into Lavrentiy's brain like a knife, eliminating all excess thought racing about in his mind. Something primal and pure called out to him from inside, warning him that he was far from safe. The sound of many paws padding against loose dirt grew ever closer to his position, approaching quickly.

The woods were too much for Lavrentiy to take in all at once, but his eyes tried to search every square inch of it in some defensive reflex. His body trembled, and his hands shook. He looked on, dumb; frozen like a statue, while his mind became blank with terror. Lavrentiy could only hope that someone would take it upon themselves to continue his life's work and avoid the mistakes that lead to his sudden, yet unexpected death.

After all, history was a guidebook, and those who refused to learn from it were always doomed to repeat it.


	2. Drawing The Battlelines

_**Chapter 1: Drawing The Battlelines**_

 _ARTHUR_

 _Loch Lomond, West Dunbartonshire/Argyll and Bute/Stirling, Scotland_

 _22:00 PM, 9th March 2018_

The long winter plaguing Loch Lomond was almost over.

Not a cloud in the sky remained to break the perfect chaos of the stars gleaming around the moon. Everything looked sharp in the blue light. The way was clear for miles as if the sun had risen. The Loch had completely frozen over and looked like a plate of solid steel. In the distance, small black mountains jutted out of the ground like an impenetrable barrier protecting the lands beyond. Snow gathered upon the sharp peaks of the mountains. Meadows, and trees, buried in ice, leaned in absolute stillness, caught like pictures in a frame.

An ancient castle rose out of the forest like an erupting mountain of stone, its human-made square towers and rectangular walls contrasting with the earth's natural roll. It was a centuries-old stronghold, perched above the frozen Loch below, its lower walls stout and thick, its northern towers and battlements jutting into the starry sky. At each corner was a circular tower with a pointed roof soaring fifty feet above the uppermost storey. An army of gargoyles sat upon its battlements, keeping watch from high atop their parapets.

The air over the Loch was dead still, the surface of the lake a thin curtain of ice, broken only by the small wake of a rowboat and whirlpool dents left by the paddles propelling the boat to shore. The bow of the ship sliced through the ice and the flashing moonlit water. A plump old man sat in the centre, with a ski beanie perched on his head and a black parka wrapped around him, covering the bulk of his jeaned legs jutting out and stretching down to chunky black boots.

The man didn't look a day over fifty and grunted as he dipped wooden oars into the water and pulled against the current, moving the craft about a foot with each tug of his paddles. A small oil lamp hanging at the bow of the boat illuminated the lake's surface and provided safe passageway for the rower and his mysterious passenger. Mentioned passenger was currently seated on the gunwale and staring at the castle looming over the lake.

" _So laddie, what're ya doin' out here at this hour?"_ The rower asked his passenger in a heavy Scottish drawl, hoping to spark up some conversation. _"It's none of your business."_ The passenger answered in a dismissive tone with a light German accent. The rower sighed and funnelled his frustration into one last burst of effort, sending the boat gliding across the lake and parting the ice mantling the glassy loch.

The boat's bow came to rest on the other side of the loch with a light thud. The rower shifted his weight onto the balls of his feet and leapt out of the boat. His passenger winced as the ship splashed into the water—more water than he would have liked. With a strength that betrayed his stout frame, the oarsman pushed the rowboat up the bank and tied a rope to a nearby tree. The passenger stepped out, taking great care not to muddy his expensive Italian shoes and dusting off several flakes resting in the lapels of his lavish blood-red coat. _"Now about my payment,"_ The rower panted, wisps of steam escaping from fat lips. The other man reached into his coat and pulled out a large bundle of pound notes.

" _As we discussed, half up front, half afterwards."_ the passenger muttered, offering the thick wad of cash to the rower.

" _You're welcome,"_ the oarsman grumbled, accepting the large roll of notes.

With the transaction complete, the passenger strolled away, leaving the boatman behind. As he trekked to the castle, moonlight bathed the man in a silver radiance, and millions of stars glittered like diamonds, scattered across the black fabric of the night. A chilly breeze floated through the night, carrying the sweet scent of grass in the wind. The stinging, biting cold dug into the on his skin like sharp teeth, but the man paid no heed to the nightly weather.

His left hand grasped a five-foot staff of black oak, the head imitating a scowling dragon and blood-red rubies set into its eye sockets. His full-length fur-trimmed wool coat flared around him like wings of flame. The man's long, dark-brown hair flowed behind him like a great black river as he walked. After walking for several minutes, he stood before a massive towering keep. It was a rather impressive sight to behold; a leviathan of ruddy sandstone held together with blackened mortar. Two large circular towers, hosting a trio of gargoyles and parapets ringed with firing slots, flanked the keep.

A large, shiny red wooden door with an ornate, bull-like, brass knocker awaited the man as he strode towards the castle, with an air of self-importance and arrogance lingering around him. The man took hold of the brass knocker and rapped it against the wood. Arthur Schopenhauer tapped his foot in a soft, irregular rhythm and did his best not to look too bored. He was, after all, a gentleman and had specific rules to follow, codes of etiquette separating him from the uneducated, insolent masses. He stared up at a gargoyle roosting above his head. It sneered down at him, face frozen in stone.

The doors creaked open to reveal a well-dressed elderly man clad in a slim-fit _"Brera"_ suit. Liver spots stippled his arthritic hands, wrinkly face and an almost bald head. Watery grey eyes gleamed with ferrety intelligence and shrivelled lips, offered Arthur a friendly smile as he stood outside the door. _"Welcome, Mr Schopenhauer. You arrived earlier than I expected,"_ The man said in a warm, friendly voice.

" _You know what they say, Mr McCaig: first in, best dressed,"_ Arthur muttered as Mccaig walked away, motioning for him to follow him. Schopenhauer walked into a sprawling courtyard; complete with complex twisting paths, a hundred-yard field of grass and row after row of thick, trimmed hedges.

Arthur couldn't help but wonder why he received an invitation to visit Keep Frobes, the home of Suibhne Forbes, an elderly and reclusive Magus who had earned a reputation in some circles as a brilliant, but madcap genius. A little over a week ago, Arthur received a letter from Forbes, and it came as quite a shock to read of someone secretive as Forbes to request for visitors. Forbes seldom left the grounds of Keep Forbes and often spent his days performing God-knew-what experiments or penning jargon-laden papers analysing various forms and principles of Magecraft. On the rare occasions that Forbes ventured beyond Keep Forbes, it was to speak at lectures on the subject of Magecraft or True Magic.

Arthur recalled one such lecture from his youth when he studied at the Clock Tower. Brief flashes of memory occupied his thought-process as he strode through the courtyard. It had been a scalding summer day, which resulted in half the class getting bored to sleep or sapped of energy from the scorching heat.

Despite this, Forbes wore a pinstriped overcoat three times his size over his lanky frame and spouted off incomprehensible gibberish about Second Magic, while waving his arms about like a complete and utter lunatic. Arthur spent the lecture alternating between trying his damnedest not to laugh at Frobes' crazed antics and sneaking glances at a clock in the room's furthest corner, counting off the minutes left before the lesson ended.

After that, Arthur swore never to attend another of Frobes' lectures again and do everything in his power to avoid crossing paths with the man ever again. Something that he succeeded at for several decades until Frobes sent him that damned letter. The clopping of shoes against concrete stone brought Arthur out of his _reverie_ , as a spiral stone spiral staircase winding up, into an eerie, fantastic tower entered his field of vision.

A seven-story fortress in tower form composed of limestone, the building, stood alone at the far end of the expansive courtyard and lorded over its brethren as if placed out of scale in a photo montage. Pointed Anglo-Saxon-style stained glass windows and stone balconies speckled the tower's angled upper walls. Cruciform archers' slits lay between every window, sealed shut with daubed cement and unneeded in the modern era by the current castellan.

McCaig showed no signs of fatigue or weariness as he guided Arthur up the tower's steps in spite of his age. Either that, or he was good at hiding it. Upon reaching the tower's apex, Arthur and McCaig stood before two large carved wooden doors painted a deep shade of blue-grey. With a mighty heave, McCaig swung the doors open with a strength betraying his wiry frame and beckoned Arthur into the chamber with a bold sweep of his arm.

As quiet as a church, the cavernous room echoed with Arthur's footsteps as he stepped into it and observed his surroundings. Beautiful woven tapestries hung all the way from the chamber's ceiling to the rose-coloured polished marble floor on two sides of the room, depicting battles scenes from various Anglo-Saxon wars and the Hundred Years War. A long red and black checkerboard carpet stretched the entire length of the vast circular room, ending at a large flat rectangular mahogany table sitting at the room's very centre.

Multi-branched _candelabra_ with beeswax candles sat upon the desk, bathing the room in the warm orange glow of candlelight. Flickering light cast moving shadows upon the gold-framed portraits of many long-dead Fobres overlooking the table, making them look alive.

" _Quite a nice little place. Wouldn't agree, Arthur?"_ A warm, familiar voice came from the doorway, startling Arthur from his silent contemplation.

Arthur spun around, staff clutched close to his chest, as he turned around and came face to face with Suibhne Forbes. Tufts of wild grey hair swirled around Forbes' balding head like a bank of storm clouds. Decades upon decades of brewing mixtures in smoky laboratories had darkened his rugged face. A black waistcoat; half unbuttoned flapped around his torso, little more than a palette of stains.

A long-sleeved, ruffled, white shirt featured sleeves inscribed with notes scrawled in Greek and Latin, written when Forbes couldn't find anything to write on. Brown trousers rolled up above Forbes' knees covered his thighs while mismatched shoes obscured his feet, a Converse-style sneaker a size too small for his right and an ankle-strap sandal on his left. His short, thin lips curled into a mischievous smile, and his bright green eyes threatened to pop out of their sockets under bushy grey eyebrows.

" _I like to think that I'm making my ancestors proud by letting them see that I'm continuing the family legacy and breaking the boundaries of Magecraft"._ Oblivious to Arthur's shock, Forbes swept his gaze over his forebearers portraits.

 _If by family legacy, you mean dressing like a mental patient and living in some gloomy, godforsaken castle without any contact with the outside world? Sure, why not?_ Arthur mused.

" _What's the matter? No 'Hello, how are you? How've you been for the last couple of decades? Have you had any major successes in your ever-continuing ventures into the study of Magecraft?' I expected better behaviour from one of my star pupils."_ Forbes' mouth twisted into a frown as he noted Arthur's sour look on his face.

" _Spare me your theatrics and pleasantries, Forbes. Why did you ask me to visit this backwater castle of yours?"_ Arthur snapped, his tone venomous.

Forbes held a finger to his lips, ignoring the barb. _"Patience, Arthur. I will explain everything in due time, for you aren't the only person I've sent for."_ A flicker of surprise shot through Arthur upon hearing Forbes' words.

" _Someone else is coming?"_ he answered, with the slightest tinge of surprise in his voice.

" _Some others and they should be here any second now."_ Forbes corrected his former student, pulling a pocket watch from his waistcoat and opening itto take note of the time.

As if on cue, three newcomers strode into the chamber accompanied by McCaig, comprised of two men and a woman. The oldest member of the group, a stocky Caucasian man, in his late thirties, hung at the rear of the gaggle, a brown cowhide Akubra rested on his head, shadowing his face and a zipped up dark green tactical military bomber jacket covered his shoulders, borg collar flipped up. Baggy khaki cargo pants, torn at one knee were held up by a silver belt buckle and a matte-black holster holding an oversized handgun dangled by his hip.

A young Asian man strode ahead of him; a dishwater-grey knee-length trench coat draped over his lean frame. Tinted aviator shades hid his eyes, and underneath the trench coat, the man wore a diamond-encrusted Breitling watch around his left wrist, well-pressed suit, red handkerchief emerging from a left breast pocket, polished black wingtips, and dark socks. He bore a serious-face chiselled into sharp planes and angles, skin stretched across broad cheekbones, and jet-black hair cropped close to his scalp.

A woman with medium-brown skin flanked his left side, her chocolate hair held in a short ponytail. Her right forearm carried a folded jacket bright green parka flecked with frost. Snow boots clomped on the marble floor in rhythm with one another as the woman followed her companions. Only an oatmeal-coloured undershirt and high-waisted snow pants covered her torso and legs, providing her with extra warmth and shielding her from the cold outside. Her small almond-shaped eyes matched her hair colour in a pretty shade of brown.

" _Hello, hello, everyone and welcome to my humble abode! It's so good to see you all here!"_ A manic smile broke out on Forbes' face, as he rushed over to meet the newcomers. In a heartbeat, the old man had closed the gap between the trio and began to shake the hands of Akubra and Trench Coat.

 _"Pleasure's all mine, Mr Forbes,"_ Akubra responded in a gruff Australian accent.

 _"The feeling is mutual,"_ Trench Coat answered, his soft clipped accent implying that he hailed from China's Shaanxi region.

" _Oh, I'm so sorry for ignoring you, Ms…"_ Forbes' voice adopted an apologetic tone and trailed off, as he clasped Undershirt's left hand in both of his and shook it, trying to remember her name.

 _"Leontyne. Ashlynn Leontyne. But you can call me Ash for short."_ Leontyne interjected, her American-accented voice melodious and soothing.

 _"Over there is Arthur Schopenhauer, a former pupil of mine._ _Please don't try to charm him with chitchat for he's not a fan of small talk."_ Forbes gestured at Arthur with his thumb, adopting a faux-whispering voice for dramatic effect.

Such a statement elicited chortles from Trench Coat and Akubra. _Great, now I'm serving as material for Forbes' impromptu stand-up routine._ Arthur scowled. Disregarding Author's obvious embarrassment, Forbes turned to his manservant and spoke to him.

 _"McCaig, you wouldn't mind offering our guests with some refreshments?" "Of course not, sir,"_ McCaig said, turning to walk out of the chamber and his footsteps receding into the stairway. The moment McCaig left the room, Ash, Akubra and Trench Coat made a beeline for Arthur.

" _If any of you plan to mock me, please be clever or subtle about it."_ Arthur sighed, bracing for an incoming avalanche of jokes and jabs.

 _"Mock you? Why would we do that when all we want to do is get acquainted with you?"_ Trench Coat spoke as his face melted into a smile, his voice assuming a friendly tone. _"My name is Jingyi Yijun, and my boisterous friend goes by the name of Raginald Gerulf."_ Raginald tipped his Akubra in Arthur's direction, revealing a battered scar-lined face with dark blue eyes and abe nose, framed by neck-length ginger hair. Jingyi extended a hand at Arthur, which Arthur accepted in a firm handshake.

 _"So, you used to be one of Mr Forbes' students?"_ Ash asked, her voice brimming with equal parts curiosity and excitement.

A question Arthur always dreaded answering when someone questioned him on his tenure as a pupil studying under Forbes' tutelage. Whenever Arthur told them that Forbes was a two-bit talentless hack off his rocker, they responded with flabbergasted phrases including the likes of _"you don't understand the underlying intricates of his theories!"_ or _"his thought process is too deep and complex for you to grasp!"_ , acting as though Forbes was above the very concept of criticism.

" _Yes, I did. Forbes was the best and brightest teacher I met. In spite of his rather... odd methods, he taught me everything that I need to know about Magecraft."_ said Arthur, forcing some enthusiasm into his reply as Forbes' gaze fell over the group.

The cause of Forbes' erratic behaviour had become the subject of theories ranging from the simple, such as getting dropped on his head as a baby to more complex ones including behavioural disorders like Disorganized Schizophrenia, Younger Onset Dementia and even Asperger's Syndrome. In truth, no one could figure out what was wrong with Forbes and root of his antics would forever remain a mystery unresolved.

 _Oh."_ Disappointment lay on Ash's face- at the fact that Arthur hadn't showered his ex-teacher in praise about _"smart"_ he was.

 _"Anyhow, does anybody know what the hell we're supposed to be doing here?"_ Arthur murmured, hoping that someone would reveal a much need answer to the ever-present riddle festering about in the back of his head.

 _"Dunno, mate. I don't have the foggiest idea of what's going on here. We're all as confused and baffled as you are."_ Raginald responded, shrugging his shoulders.

 _So much for asking questions._ Arthur thought to himself and stared at the floor, dissatisfied by the beefy Australian's rather vague answer. Shoes clip-clopping against marble disrupted the German Magus' thought process, prompting him to look up and find McCaig approaching the group, carrying a silver tray laden with filled wine glasses. Dark red liquid sloshed about in the glasses with every step the butler took, being careful not to drop the plate.y.

" _Ladies and Gentlemen, can I interest you in some refreshing beverages?"_ McCaig inquired, holding the tray in front of him and standing near the foursome within reaching distance.

They all murmured _"thank yous"_ as they each accepted glasses with inviting smiles. Arthur sipped the mulled wine and let it slide down his throat, enjoying the scent of clove and nutmeg. Forbes may have been a talentless lunatic, but it was hard for Arthur to deny that the man had good taste in wine.

* * *

Time drifted through an alcohol-induced haze, as more people arrived and Frobes greeted them in that energetic manner of his. Arthur kept to himself by standing near a far right corner of the room, lips pursed and doing everything he could to avoid making small talk. The babble of many voices filling his ears and assaulting his eardrums was enough to give him a headache. Arthur's temples pounded with the intensity of a woodpecker pecking into his skull, as he took note of the people gathering in the vast room.

A tangible cocktail of confusion and excitement hung in the air, as Forbes' guest checked phones and watches, chatted to one another or drunk wine. They all came in a wide range of dimensions: tall-thin, tall-fat, short-thin, medium-fat and so on. Their clothing ran the gamut from formal to informal: including fur coats, tuxedos, silk dresses, business suits, trench coats and hoodies. Diamonds and other precious gems glittered from silver chains and studded leather collars hanging on throats, ears, and fingers.

The gentle tinkling of a spoon tapping against glass brought everyone's attention to Forbes.

" _May I have everyone's attention, please!"_ Forbes shouted over the crowd and then paused, waiting for the buzz of discussion and chatter to fade away. Fourteen sets of eyes fell upon Forbes, holding court over the group as he stood on an ornate high-back Victorian chair with a wine glass in one hand and a teaspoon in the other.

" _Good evening everyone. Before we begin, I'd like to thank everyone for coming together on such short notice. I can't tell you how much this means to me as you are the only people I trust. We have much to discuss, and I need you to pay attention because I only have time to go through this once."_ Forbes continued, his tone severe and devoid of humour.

" _You are wondering why you are here, aren't you? Well, wonder no more, because each of you possesses some sort desires that defines you as a person along with a unique talent. They will drive you ever onward to greatness, through challenges, life or death situations and make you appreciate the strengths of your peers complementing your own."_

A burst of interest and unease surged through Arthur, as he took in Forbes' words. This behaviour was very unlike him, as Forbes often spoke in a jokey, easygoing manner and only used a serious tone when disciplining disobedient students.

" _All of this necessary when you partake in the Holy Grail War, where you either win or you die."_ Forbes climbed down from his chair, setting the spoon and glass down on his desk.

A ripple of hushed murmurs echoed, as everyone absorbed the staggering implications of Forbes' revelation. The statement's full, crushing weight bore down on Arthur's mind like a thousand-ton anvil. His brain went blank with shock, struggling to process his mentor's desire to see him fight for his life against a bunch of strangers.

" _Are you insane? If the Council catch wind of this, they'll hunt us down and kill us all! Do you know how hard it is to cover up something like that?"_ A bespectacled Italian youth shrieked, his voice laced with pure, unadulterated fear.

After the disastrous climax of the previous Holy Grail War, where the War's overseer attempted to use a Holy Grail to unleash widespread destruction on a global scale and please his sadistic urges. As a result of this, the Association and the Church launched a joint investigation centred around discovering the driving force behind the overseer's actions.

It didn't take long for them to learn that said overseer was a psychopath who only found joy in the suffering of others and the Zoroastrian god of evil had corrupted the Holy Grail in question. The Association were even quicker to discover the Church's intentions to claim the Grail for themselves and steal it right from under the Association's nose. One thing lead to another, and soon both parties declared war on one another, generating a bloody, half-decade conflict that raged all over the world.

After the shedding so much blood, both sides forged a truce, through a peace treaty ratified by the two faction's ruling councils. Under the treaty's terms, the Church dismantled the Grail, and the Association did everything they could to avoid any future Grail Wars from occurring, as the Magi-Executioner War had almost exposed the Magi world to the general public on many occasions and the Association wished to end activities that were difficult to conceal from prying eyes. Such a feat was possible through the Suppressors: a global network of spies studying the behaviours of Magi and answering only to the Association's higher-ups.

While many were vocal in their criticism of the Suppressors, due to their sinister, Orwellian overtones, others deemed them a necessary evil stopping outsiders from discovering their existence. After all, with the ever-evolving nature of social media and wireless technologies, it was easy for some random schmuck to witness two Servants fighting, record it on their phone and upload it onto YouTube. It was thanks to the Suppressors that Grail Wars had gone the way of the Dinosaurs.

" _Fear not, young Alessandro. I have taken precautions to prevent such an event from happening."_ Forbes countered, unfazed by Alessandro's hysteria.

" _Precautions?"_ Alessandro gasped.

" _Three rules governing how this Grail War functions. If you obey them and do as I say, all will be right with the world."_ The Scotsman intoned, standing ramrod straight behind his desk.

" _Okay, so what are the rules?"_ Raginald spoke up.

 _"Rule number one: Don't fight if there is a risk of public exposure,"._ Forbes stated.

" _Anyone with even half a brain would do that!"_ The Australian howled.

" _Rule number two: All battles must take place far away from towns and cities to minimise the likelihood of property damage occurring."_ Forbes resumed, taking Raginald's criticism in stride.

 _"And finally, rule number 3: Don't do anything that will attract the Association's attention!"_ He whispered.

Arthur's mouth hung open, astounded at the sheer lack of thought that Forbes had put into his pet project. Did he think that three flimsy and vague rules would be enough to prevent Suppressors from stumbling upon Forbes' little battle royale? Arthur moved his mouth to form a counter-argument pointing out the flaws in his plan, but clenched his jaw shut upon realising that Forbes would most likely respond with a nonsensical and incoherent defence designed to confuse Arthur.

" _Now with that sideshow out of the way, it's time for the main event!"_ Forbes reached under his desk and pulled an unseen lever.

Stone scraped against stone as a section of marble floor near Forbes' left slid open inch by inch. Arthur almost jumped upon hearing the ruckus, yet sheer curiosity rooted him in place, as a two meter by two-meter brown square limestone slab rose from the ground.

Black leather boxes lay on the slab's front stacked on top of each other in neat piles, all varying in size and shape — some rectangular, triangular, square, or trapezoidal. Others were dinner-plate-sized, and several boxes looked big enough to hold a basketball, and one even rivalled a watermelon in bulk. Crisp, golden letters embossed every box's top, bearing the name of a would-be Master's name, the class of a Servant awaiting summoning and the word _"Themis"_ or _"Kakia."_ Bundles of inch thick manila envelopes with neat labels blanketed the slab's rear in ordered rows, awaiting their eventual opening.

The slab ground to a sudden halt, stopping around waist height with a heavy thunk. Silence descended upon the room, as McCaig positioned himself near the slab.

" _All right. Here's what's going to happen. Each of you will split into two teams: Themis and Kakia. When I call your name, you will come up to the slab where Mr McCaig will give a relic need to summon your Servant and one of these envelopes. Everyone in Team Themis will meet on the room's left side, while those in Team Kakia will do so on the right. Is that clear?"_ Forbes instructed, brandishing a crumpled piece of paper.

" _Yes, Mr Forbes."_ Everyone responded, speaking as a single entity — everyone except Arthur.

So it began. One by one, each of Forbes' guests stepped forward to receive a box and an envelope before walking to one side of the room. Arthur himself at a crossroads as this occurred, the rational side of his mind urged him to run the hell out of here and never look back, while the emotional half pleaded with him to stay and be a part of something greater, after living his whole life in the shadow of his family's name.

Arthur's left hand reached into his pants pocket, hoping to find a coin he could flip to reach a decision. It was what he always did when he ran into a difficult choice: he'd get a coin and flip it to make up his mind. Something hard and metallic pressed into Arthur's palm, fingers curling around the object as he pulled it out of the pocket. A British one pound coin rested in his hand and glinting in the candlelight with a side profile of Queen Elizabeth II's head facing up.

Arthur curled his left hand into a fist, and his right snatched up the pound, placing it on top of his left. If the pound landed on heads, he would leave Keep Forbes and never come back again. But, if it fell on tails, he would partake in Forbes' Grail War. The coin flipped high up, spinning end over end and suspended in mid-air as though it dangled from a piece of string. It landed in his right hand's palm with a light smack and Arthur slapped it onto the back of his left.

The coin's _"tails"_ side starred up at Arthur, determining his future in an instant as Forbes called out to the German at that very moment.

" _Arthur Schopenhauer. Master to Caster of Themis."_ Forbes announced, and everyone's gaze locked onto Arthur, as he stood alone in his corner.

Without even thinking and ignoring the sweat running down his neck, Arthur strode over to McCaig, accepted his box and envelope, before trotting toward the room's left half.

All around him, every-soon-to-be Master was inspecting some object. On Team Kakia's side, Lancer of Kakia's Master; a barrel-chested Irishman held a large, obsidian-coloured reverse-teardrop shaped metal mask with triangular eye-holes in his hands. Two stubs protruded like broken horns from the mask's posterior and crescent grooves engraved across its crown and face. The _"eyes"_ were no more than narrow, curving slits slanting downwards to mimic the visage of a hateful glare. Next, to the Irishman, Ash cradled a vial containing a dark liquid between her hands, gazing at it as if it held the secrets of the universe. Unfortunately, this did not go unnoticed by Forbes.

 _"I wouldn't do that if I were you, young lady. Unless you want to kill us all, of course!"_ The older man bellowed at Ash, his face contorting into a mask of rage. Ash placed the vial back into a cigar box-sized container, cheeks flushing red from embarrassment, as a scream ripped through the chamber.

The focus of attention shifted onto Berserker of Kakia's Master: a rail-thin and tuxedoed Frenchman sprawled on the floor, a look of fear plastered on his face. His manila envelope and the box holding his Summoning Relic lay upside down on next to him, a folded slip of paper brushing against his waist. What caught everyone's attention was the severed, avian head glowering at Tuxedo, from his left.

Instead of eyes, an evil red mirrored visor stretched across its navy-blue face above a hooked metal beak lined with razor-sharp teeth and flanked by curving insectile mandibles. A large crescent blade crowned the creature's forehead while a mohawk-esque crest of similar smaller blades ran down the back of its neck. The head vanished in a blur, as Tuxedo summoned up his courage and bundled up his belongings as he shot to his feet; shoving the head and paper into their box before scooping up the envelope.

" _Sorry about that. I got a bit of fright."_ Tuxedo chuckled to his onlookers, trying to hide his fear.

A chill climbed down the rungs of Arthur's spine, as he struggled to imagine what sort of creature the head was once apart of. It didn't resemble any kind of Phantasmal Beast that he knew of, as Arthur had never seen a freakish monstrosity that looked as though it lived to cause pain and death. Whatever Heroic Spirit that Tuxedo was going to summon, Arthur could only hope that he wouldn't have to fight it or at the very least, cross paths with it.

" _Now that everyone has their Relics and envelopes, you can now summon your Servants."_ Forbes' voice pierced the oppressive silence, as his left arm snaked under the desk and tugged at another lever.

Portions of the marble wall slid open like sliding doors to reveal small rooms smelling of dust. Faint candlelight flickered from inside of the rooms, throwing light on a sizeable crimson circle with its middle ringed by complex, runic characters inscribed on the floor of each room. At the centre of each circle lay a hexagram with encircled Arabic glyphs rested at the hexagram's upper right and lower left corners.

" _I've created Summoning Circles, so you don't have to go through the hassle of making your own,"_ Forbes explained, watching as everyone filled into a room.

Arthur walked into one such room, where a Summoning Circle awaited him in semi-darkness. A grandfather clock ticked away in the corner, as he made the preparations necessary to summon his Servant. Arthur pulled off the box's lid and found himself staring at a red and gunmetal silver skull-like helmet, incorporating a metal faceplate with a long, flat, narrow _"chin"_ and narrow strip of black Plexiglas, resembling the visor-slit in a knight's helmet.

He placed the helmet in the hexagram's very centre and noticed a folded sheet of paper stuck to the helmet's underside. As Arthur yanked it free and unfolded it, commotions outside his room in the form of chanting and flashes of bright light. _Everyone else is busy summoning their Servants or have already finished._ Arthur pressed out the paper's creases with the palm of his hand, eyes skimming over the words scrawled on the page.

 _This must be the mantra must I recite._ Arthur cleared his throat to prepare himself for reciting the chant.

" _Let silver and steel be the essence. Let stone and the Archduke of contracts be the foundation. Let Themis be the goddess I pay tribute to."_

Raw power swelled within his chest, compressing and compounding until his heart threatened to explode. It raged, it was primal: something newborn and nigh-limitless. The pounding of his heart shook his whole body, and his breath almost deafened him — his soul tuning itself to the flow of magic.

" _Let rise a wall against the wind that shall fall. Let the four cardinal gates close. Let the three-forked road from the crown reaching unto the Kingdom rotate."_

A torrent of energy surged through his veins and waves of pure power flooded his limbs, overpowering and addictive. The Summoning Circle glowed red with a throbbing motion, and upon Arthur's second recitation, the ground beneath the helmet trembled. Hot, shearing warmth spread outwards and travelled up the length of his arm. Goosebumps prickled along his skin, and the heat crawled up to his scapula, infusing the entire limb with a scalding sensation.

" _I hereby declare. Your body shall serve under me. My fate shall be your sword."_

Prana enveloped and filled his blood and bones, as a comforting and familiar presence fell over Arthur.

" _Submit to the beckoning of the Holy Grail, if you will submit to this will and this reason. Then answer! An oath shall be sworn here!"_

Arthur cast out an invisible thread from his soul and hooked it into the helmet, anchoring them together. Power beyond his imagining surged around him, lifting him like an ocean wave.

" _I shall attain all virtues of all of Heaven. I shall have dominion over all evils of all of Hell! From the Seventh Heaven, attended to by three greet words of power."_

A towering wave of power smashed into Arthur, but he kept chanting. The violence of the thread's connection slammed into him, but the chant and his concentration kept him anchored. In his mind's eye, Arthur saw the link in all its brilliance, a bright thread of light and colour. Its sheer beauty took his breath away as it undulated, glistening like powdered diamonds.

" _Come forth from the ring of restraints, Protector of the Holy Balance!"_

Coiling serpents of lightning slithered across the mask, and a spider web of thin glowing cracks radiated out from its visor. The helmet jolted about, unable to withstand the magical energy channelling through it. Arthur willed himself to ride the magic fanning outwards from the mask, focusing on letting it wash through him. Strength returned, and his connection to the Servant solidified, supporting them with his magic and life force.

A storm raged in his soul, howling like a blizzard wind and Arthur's whole body burned with wild magic as the thread sent power through him, making the filament glow. The mask flared in an angry shade of red, reaching its breaking point. It burst apart, shattering into a million pieces as a blast rolled outwards from the Summoning Circle.

Arthur braced himself against a fierce gale-force wind buffeting his body and trying to knock him down. The wind vanished as it appeared and left great swirling clouds of smoke in its wake. Spasms of coughing racked Arthur's body, as his lungs heaved to expel the smoke and a shimmering curtain of light blanketed a figure standing in the Summoning Circle.

The figure's face lay hidden beneath the helmet that once sat in the hexagram and a black hooded cloak — a pale orange chest-plate engraved with curved lines protected the torso while a maroon sash circled the waist. Baggy sleeves and a lengthy skirt obscured the limbs, as an ebony belt studded with hoops riding over the hips. A silver ring held the belt together with two long coal-coloured strips of fabric, and a rectangular, carmine crotch flap hanging at the feet. Peach-orange vambraces attached to plated black gloves enclosed the Servant's forearms, and Arthur caught glimpses of calf-high onyx boots under the skirt.

" _Howdy there! I'm Caster of Themis, and you wouldn't happen to be my Master, would you?"_ Caster introduced themselves and finally acknowledging Arthur's presence with a cheerful and electronically filtered, British-accented voice.

" _Indeed I am. My name is Arthur Schopenhauer, and I will serve as your master."_ Arthur returned the greeting with a smile and bow, trying to come across as polite. _"Would you be kind enough to tell me you True Na-."_ Arthur's Servant interrupted his response.

" _Ah, ah, ah!"_ Caster rebuked, in the voice one used when disciplining a disobedient dog. _"We've only known each other for about...I don't know…"_ The Servant paused, rubbing the back of their hooded head.

" _I asked you a question. Who are you?"_ asked Arthur, letting impatience seep into his voice.

 _"5 seconds...is it 5? Ye-Yes 5! 5 seconds and you've asked me a very personal question! We're not off to a great start."_ Caster stammered, formulating an astonished response before holding up a hand displaying five fingers.

" _And why's that?"_ Arthur said, surprised by his Servant's response.

 _"It's a long story, so I'll give you the short version and say that I have... problems trusting others. If you're nice to me, I'll tell you a little bit about myself and get to know you, as a special treat. 'Till then, you're not so much as getting a peep out of me."_ Caster continued without skipping a beat.

Anger and frustration rose in Arthur's chest like burning oil. In several minutes, he had summoned his Servant, and the said Servant proved themselves to be a disobedient individual who doled out sarcastic comments by the bucketload.

 _"Now if you don't mind, I'd now like to meet my teammates and scope out the competition."_ Caster waltzed past him and out of the room.

Arthur followed after them, uncertain of what manner of Servants awaited him or Caster had in mind. Arthur's hand fell upon the head of his staff, ready to unsheathe the cane sword contained within, in case Caster had any funny ideas about turning on him or things went south. His paranoia did little to prepare him for what he saw next.

As he re-entered the chamber, Arthur spotted Jingyi standing next to a youthful, feminine-looking man with ash-grey hair and an azure left eye. A dark grey blindfold covered his right eye like a makeshift eye patch, and a steel jaw replaced his lower one. Dark sharp-edged armour encased his sleek form with fins protruding from streamlined arms, equipped with silver clawed fingers and his legs terminated in rubberised stiletto heels and short metal claws. Affixed to his back was a large, blackish-grey rectangular sheath and a Heckler & Koch Mark 23 Phase II Prototype equipped with a Knight's Armament suppressor and laser aiming module slept in a thigh holster on the man's right leg.

Standing across from him, Tuxedo's towering Servant, Berserker of Kakia eyed it's Master, cruel curiosity glinting in its beast's visor and drool oozing from its beak. The two slender yet muscular legs it stood on sported a metal talon, with a sickle-shaped blade appended to each arm above two small hooks. Cobalt plating armoured its body and three sail-like fins strung with vermilion webbing dominated it's back. Jagged, teeth-like blades ran straight down a slit in the creature's thorax, and spikes dotted its joints. A tail slunk back and forth, equipped with plates of silver, spiked armour and tapering into a metal tri-clawed pincer.

In one far corner of Team Themis' room, Alessandro (Lancer of Themis' Master, if Arthur recalled) conversed with a short boy in his mid-teens. The boy wore a long, crimson duster featuring a Flamel Cross emblazoned across the back over a chicory singlet complemented with matching trousers, a thick brown belt and chunky combat boots. A short plait of golden-blond hair hung from the rear of his head with bangs framing his round face. As Arthur studied the boy further, he noted that the youth's right arm was composed of shining steel.

It was then that Arthur caught Caster making their way to the duo and he broke into a sprint. His cane clattered onto marble, as he took off and ran after his Servant. God only knew what Caster was planning to do next. Arthur pushed his way through a gaggle of Servants, including a blue-haired teenage girl with her body sheathed in a white form-fitting bodysuit, an inkblot-masked man bundled up in a grungy mustard-yellow trench coat and a tall person clad in olive-green futuristic armour with an all-obstructing visored helmet.

Muttering half-hearted _"excuse mes"_ and _"sorries",_ Arthur navigated through the Servants and came within reaching distance of Caster, who was a stone's throw away from Alessandro and Lancer. Arthur grabbed Caster by the arm and pulled them before they could barge into Alessandro and Lancer's conversation.

" _What in the hell do you think you're doing?"_ Arthur hissed in a whisper. _"_

" _Nothing too sinister. I'm making a good impression by strolling up and saying 'How do you do, fellow Servant?'"_ Caster explained, still coy as ever.

 _"Look, I don't want you to make a scene in front of all these people,"_ Arthur warned.

" _A little late too for that, given how you sprinted here to have this little chat. And by the way, this is your's."_ Caster quipped, before looking over Arthur's shoulder and making a jerking motion with one hand. Arthur ducked down, as his staff flew right over his head and into Caster's awaiting hand.

His confused and startled mind struggled to process what he had seen, numbed by shock. Caster had somehow made his staff levitate off the ground and come to them via the power of their mind. Telekinesis was something of an unusual, though not unheard of ability that Magi possessed and even rarer amongst Heroic Spirits. In life, Caster must have been a Psychic, whose talents were not restricted to telekinesis and included the likes of precognition or other paranormal phenomena.

Arthur reached for his staff, but Caster held it away from him at arm's length. " _You didn't say the magic words, Arthur."_ Caster chided.

 _"Please. Can I have my staff back? "Arthur_ mumbled, more than aware of how childish he sounded, as Caster handed the staff to him with a flourish.

" _See? Politeness will get you everywhere."_ she offered. _Yeah, right,_ Arthur thought dryly.

The jingling of a brass bell cut through the din, and all eyes met with Forbes, now holding a small bell in his hand. _"I'm glad to see that everyone is getting along so well,"_ he said. _"Some of you seem to be getting along especially well."_ He noted, noticing the various Masters and Servants crowding together. _"And now, it's time for you to go home and prepare yourselves because, in three months, you'll have a hectic schedule."_

" _Each manila envelope contains everything you'll need for this Grail War. False passports, plane tickets to your destination, local currency, guidebooks, maps of where the War will take place, the keys to your temporary residences along with... several instructions."_ Forbes gave a short, half-suppressed laugh.

Arthur rifled in the pockets of his coat and pants for his envelope, only to find that it wasn't there. A lightning bolt of fear shot from upon realising that he had forgotten it.

 _"Is this what you're looking for?"_ Caster asked, holding up a dust-covered manila envelope.

 _"Where did you find that?"_ He pointed at the envelope _._

" _I found it lying around in the room where you summoned. I thought that would come in handy later on and it turns out that I was right. I like being proven right."_ Caster said in a self-congratulatory tone.

Arthur never recalled seeing Caster picking up the envelope as they walked out of the room. _They must have done it when I wasn't looking with their telekinetic powers._ Arthur realised.

" _And one more thing,"_ Forbes added, just as everyone headed straight for the exit. " _If I discover that any of you are getting into scuffles behind my back before the War begins, I'll find you and make you regret ever being born."_ He snarled, his voice steeling with authority.

Arthur couldn't help but shiver at Forbes' clear threat, while he and Caster allowed themselves to be absorbed into the crowd heading towards the massive doors.

" _Why the long face? You look like someone just killed your puppy."_ Caster inquired, noting Arthur's worried facial expression.

" _Oh, yeah. The unsubtle-threat that Crazy McCloud Hair made. I suggest that you don't worry too much about it, he's messing with you._ _Something tells me that is everything going to work out just fine!"_ Caster answered their question with vibrant enthusiasm, before wrapping a free arm around Arthur's shoulder.

" _If only you knew Caster if only you knew,"_ Arthur whispered.

* * *

 **And here it is, the very first chapter of** _ **Fate/Khaoskampf**_ **, which will be very different to most other** _ **Fate**_ **fanfics, where non-Nasuverse characters get summoned as Servants, which can be summed up as** _ **"Masters partaking in the Holy Grail War summon fictional characters instead of historical or mythological figures. Wacky and hilarious hijinks ensue."**_ **That realm of mediocrity where garbage like** _ **Fate/Zero Sense**_ **resides in.**

 **This chapter took me a while to write, due to it being very dialogue and characterisation-heavy, which are not my strongest suits, as a writer. Couple that with the fact that I've continuously been editing this chapter by running it through Hemingway Editor and Grammarly to remove any grammatical or structural errors that were present and my busy work schedule as an AIN, and I didn't get many opportunities to write it.**

 **And now that I've finished this chapter, I can start to write the next one. There are a LOT of fictional characters who appear as Servants, some you might be able to recognise and others who may be unfamiliar to you. And since I'm such a nice guy, I'll gonna you plenty of time to try and spot every single one, okay?**

 **So off you go, folks, time to play… GUESS THAT SERVANT!**


	3. Farewell to Arms

_**Chapter 3: Farewell to Arms**_

 _ARCHER OF THEMIS_

 _Kingswood, New South Wales, Australia_

 _9:30 AM, 11th March 2018_

" _So, let me see if I can wrap my head around this, Sir. You're gathering military-grade weaponry and putting them into these bags, so you can meet someone at Wianamatta Nature Reserve, who will sneak these weapons into Siberia, where the Grail War will take place."_ Archer stated, gesturing at two empty duffel bags hanging from Raginald's left arm.

" _You got it in one, Archer. Russia has some of the tightest gun control laws in the world. Every single leftist on this planet would wet themselves upon hearing the bullshit you'd have to go through to buy a gun."_ Raginald responded, walking past rack after rack lined with all manner of weapons, varying from revolvers to machetes. The harsh, flat light of a naked bulb illuminated the room serving as Raginald's armoury, playing off a sleeveless white muscle shirt displaying massive biceps.

" _First, you have to get a hunting license or explain why you need a gun for self-defence. Then, you need to pass a test of relevant laws, including handling and first-aid, to avoid blowing your foot off. After that, a doctor must prove that you're not a druggie or fucked in the head. When that's all done, you attend a gun safety class before passing another exam. And bing, bang, boom, you're all set to buy a gun!"_ Raginald plucked a magazineless Steyr AUG and Heckler & Koch MP5 from one rack and turned to face Archer.

" _Since you look like a guy who knows his way around guns, I want your honest opinion, Archer. Which is the better gun: the AUG or MP5?"_ Raginald held both firearms in front of him at arm's length.

" _The AUG, Sir. It's compact, holds more ammunition, ambidextrous and has better range."_ Archer answered, pointing at the bullpup assault rifle.

" _The AUG it is,"_ The Australian placed the MP5 back onto the rack, before shoving the AUG into one of the bags.

A machete with a _Tantō-style_ point, followed by M84s, a sawn-off Browning Superposed, M18A1s, M67s, Semtex and Barrett Model 82 vanished into the bags. Raginald reached down to his waist, where a pistol holster hung onto his shorts and pulled out a .50 AE Desert Eagle Mark XIX outfitted with a muzzle brake. Raginald flicked the safety on and pocketed an ejected magazine before coaxing a bullet from the chamber. He then inspected the gun, pleased with what he saw and when he was about to place it into one of the bags, the Smart AI inhabiting Archer's helmet chose to speak up.

 _"That gun's only good for one thing: making you the loudest guy in a firefight. Now, don't get me wrong. The Deagle's a cool looking gun and makes big holes in things, but also freaking ginormous, and has massive recoil. You need to be Bigfoot to fire it one-handed, and it holds only seven rounds of expensive ammo. It's like having a three-foot schlong - neat in theory, but useless in practice."_ CTN 0452-9, better known as Cortana explained in a smarmy and smug manner, her tinny voice echoing through the speakers of Archer's Mark IV Mjolnir Helmet.

" _Cortana, do me a favour and shut up."_ Archer snapped, acid seeping into his gravelly voice. The last thing he needed right now was his companion acting up.

" _Aww! Did I touch a nerve because I questioned Steve Irwin's choice of sidearm?"_ Cortana retorted in that playful and mischievous tone of hers.

" _No, it's because you're a smartass. If you tried being less of a smartass, people would like you more."_ Archer shot back, irritated by Cortana's condescending tone and having none of her bullshit.

 _"Fine, I'll keep my big, non-existent trap shut."_ The AI sighed in defeat.

" _I'm sorry you had to hear that, Sir. Cortana can be a-"_ Archer shrugged his armoured shoulders and felt glad that he was currently wearing a helmet. Otherwise, Raginald would have seen his Servant's face turn beet red.

" _An A-grade bitch at times? Don't get too worked up over it, mate. I deal with people like her all the time in my job,"_ Raginald advised, dropping the Desert Eagle into one of the bags, zipping it shut and setting it down onto the concrete floor.

" _What exactly do you do for a living and more importantly, how did you manage to buy these things?"_ Cortana chirped.

" _Let's say I dabble a little bit of everything. I've served in Iraq during '03, done plenty of hit jobs on the side, bodyguarded some big-name blokes, moonlighted as an Enforcer for the Association before the whole Magi-Executioner shitstorm and now, I work for the Unity Resources Group."_ Raginald listed, holding up his fingers and ticking off his previous occupations.

" _Soldier, assassin, bodyguard, Enforcer and mercenary. That's quite a colourful career you've had over the last decade."_ Cortana gave an impressed whistle.

" _Please, I prefer the term 'private military contractor'. Mercenary is such an ugly word, Cortana as you make it sound like I'm a psycho who kills for cash."_ Raginald said, striding over towards an organised row of multi-coloured ammo crates with scrawled various gun names and calibres printed across each lid in capitals.

" _And speaking of guns, I'm afraid that this little arsenal of yours is gonna be useless in the War, 'cause you'll run into an enemy Servant at some point. And we all know that firearms do jack against Servants unless they have mystery imbued in them, of course."_ Cortana continued, as Raginald dropped into a crouch and rummaged through the crates, pulling out ammo magazines decorated with different patterns like zigzags and diamonds.

" _Cortana"_ Archer growled, growing tired of the AI's lippy attitude. His thumb rested against a round button on the helmet's jawline, ready to deactivate his external speakers.

" _Now that's where you're wrong, missy."_ Raginald countered, facing Archer and holding a stray .50 AE bullet between his thumb and forefinger. The bullet filled up the display screen of Archer's helmet, as his helmet cameras zoomed in on it. A tight close-up of the round revealed two angular glyphs engraved along its tip, each glowing with a brilliant gold light.

" _Are those things-"_ Cortana began.

" _Norse Runes?"_ Raginald smiled. _"And not any old runes. I'm talking Elder Futhark, the oldest runic alphabet known to man."_

" _My family has practised this Magecraft for generations, and it's one of the varied forms of Magecraft out there. The only problem is it's a bitch to learn Rune Chains, as runes have a ton of different effects, and I have to take specific meanings from a rune to make spells. This bullet has a Rune Chain boosting it's stopping power, and I'd have to use the runes Eihwaz and Raidho to create that effect."_

" _Eihwaz is a rune of endurance along with other things, but what's important is that improves the bullet's toughness. Raidho is a travel rune that makes the bullet go much, much faster, allowing it to punch through pretty much anything. Then, I have to whip out my stylus-"_

" _That's what she said!"_ Cortana giggled in a shrill voice.

" _That's it. I've had enough of your lip, Cortana."_ Archer snarled and thumbed the button, shutting off the helmet's speakers.

" _Inscribe the runes into the bullet, invoke their names to link them together and then, you've got a bad boy that turns its target into red paste."_ Raginald finished, ignoring the A.I's tasteless and immature remark.

" _What the hell is your problem?"_ Archer asked, trying to maintain his composure.

" _Funny, I was going to say the same thing about you._ _And in case you haven't figured it out, I'm kinda bored. Did you know that Australia has one of the slowest internet connections in the world? I mean their fixed broadband is worse than Kazakhstan, for crying out loud! Which means that I can't surf the web or watch porn to pass the time and no internet or porn drives me a little stir crazy._ _"_ Cortana spat.

" _I'll pretend I didn't hear that,"_ Archer murmured.

" _Hello, earth to Archer. Are you even listening to me?"_ Raginald said, a note of irritation creeping into his voice.

" _Excuse me, Sir. I was having a… chat with Cortana."_ Archer paused as he reactivated the speakers and yanked Cortana's data chip out of the helmet, shoving it into his belt.

" _Sorry for interrupting. I thought you were spacing out. That big-arse helmet of yours makes it hard to tell."_ Raginald apologised, loading the stray .50 AE bullet into its magazine and stowing the mag back into his pocket. He then scooped up the zipped up second duffel bag, which bulged with ammunition and walked over to a flight of metal stairs leading out of the armoury, snatching up the first bag in mid-stride.

Archer climbed up the stairs after Raginald and prayed that the steps he walked on didn't collapse under his massive weight. The stairs groaned and shrieked with every step he took, threatening to give away at any possible moment. Late morning sunlight beamed down onto the stairway from a large rectangular gap above Raginald and Archer's heads, glinting off the Servant's dull green battle armour and blazing orange visor.

Soon, Raginald and Archer reached the very top of the stairs and found themselves standing in Raginald's barren living room. A Samsung Q9 4K UHD QLED TV sat on top of a mocha coloured, Scandi-style entertainment unit facing a beige Emma Tub Armchair resting on a sparse wooden floor. Coats of drab grey paint covered the room's pictureless, windowless walls and a LEDlux Textie 320mm LED white flush mount set into the ceiling.

Raginald waited until Archer had finished climbing up the stairs and joined him in the living room, before bringing a long, rectangular hatch down over the stairs' uppermost steps. The Magus then snapped multiple locks onto a latch and pulled a thick, white, furry rug over the hatch to conceal it from prying eyes. He then trotted off to an adjoining room, bags bristling with enough ammo and weapons to enough weapons to start a war.

Archer trailed behind and observed every part of the room as he entered it. A neat, well-made king-size bed dominated the ample space that was Raginald's bedroom, flanked by a dark walnut bedside table — spanning almost the left wall, a vast, ornate wooden wardrobe held silent vigil over the room. Raginald set both bags down the bed and tugged open the nightstand's top drawer, both hands rifling through it. A Smith & Wesson Model 29 with an 8 3/8" barrel and a large cluster of .44 Magnum bullets emerged from the draw.

In one continuous motion, Raginald flipped open the cylinder, inspected its contents, stuck the revolver into his waistband and shoved the rounds into his left pocket. He then picked up both bags and walked out of the room, his white Reebok sneakers padding against oak floorboards. Archer followed his Master down a hallway with a bland vanilla door at the end, floorboards creaking underneath his armoured feet.

When he reached the door, Raginald unlocked the door and pulled it open, revealing absolute blackness. The mercenary groped about in the darkness as his finger searched for the light switch. The soft _click_ of the switch did not prepare Archer for the instant illumination that the lights brought with them. His eyes squinted, adjusting to the brightness threatening to rupture through his eyelids and blind him.

The lights dimmed to reveal a garage devoid of any of the typical accoutrements of a garage—no tools, no bicycles, no lawnmower or other garden implements. Except for a silver Holden Commodore Ute sitting on the barren swath of concrete serving as the garage floor, it was empty. The Ute's tail lights blinked, as Raginald's fingers pressed down an electronic keypad and unlocked the car's boot. Pistons hissed while Raginald prised the boot lid open, placed the bags into the car's rear, slammed the boot shut, opened the Ute's driver's door and clambered behind the wheel.

" _Sorry, Archer. As much as I'd love to let you let ride shotgun, you'd end up breaking the suspension. I'm sure you remember what happened last time when you got in, don't you?"_ Raginald spoke, adopting an apologetic tone.

" _I do, indeed, Sir,"_ Archer answered.

Archer's mind flashed back to two days prior when he and Raginald arrived in Australia at Sydney Airport. After retrieving his Ute from the airport's park lot, Raginald started up the car and invited Archer to ride in the front passenger seat. What happened next would amuse Cortana to no end as the Ute's suspension system was ill-suited for supporting the weight of Archer's unarmoured form. Cortana laughed her ass the whole time while Raginald almost had a stroke.

From then onwards, Raginald became somewhat reluctant to let Archer anywhere near his car. Even if Archer so much as gazed at the damn thing, Raginald would break out into a sweat and ask him not to touch it. Which, meant that Archer had to assume his spiritual form whenever Raginald went out and about in his Ute.

Numbness overcame Archer as he faded away with a bright shimmering glow. The whole of his being—bones, ligaments, organs, and even his heart beating away ceased to exist. His limbs dissipated into many, golden motes of Prana, followed by his torso dispersing into microscopic particles. Raginald's words echoed in the blackness of Archer's brain, as his head crumbled away, like a wave smashing into a hapless sandcastle.

In the blink of an eye, Archer relinquished his body and became a ghost. He was unable to interact with the material world, but more than happy to observe it. As much as Archer preferred to have a flesh and blood body, being in spirit from did have its advantages. For starters, it allowed him to go wherever he pleased without passers-by gawking at his large frame or harassing him with questions about how tall he was. Second, Archer passed through any solid object that got in his way—doors, six-inch-thick walls and concrete foundations, which meant that he could get from one point to another much faster.

The garage door rolled up without a sound, and Raginald's Ute pulled onto a short narrow driveway leading into a wide street. The garage door slid shut, as Archer's spectral form floated after the Ute, trailing behind it like an invisible shadow with his non-existent feet hovering mere centimetres above asphalt concrete. Raginald drove past squat rundown homes grey as a December sky and broken plaster exposing the bricks inside their walls.

Raginald's choice to live out in Greater Western Sydney or as Cortana eloquently put it: " _a crime-ridden hellhole"_ , was one that often puzzled Archer to no end, considering that his Master's occupation paid him rather well. But, Raginald was quick to clarify that Sydney was one of the world's most expensive cities to live in and he chose to live out west because the rent was much cheaper. That and he had a rather impressive arsenal to defend himself, which meant that anyone would have had to think twice before breaking into his home.

Dilapidated apartment buildings, coffee shops, fast-food outlets and supermarkets whizzed by in a blur of monotony and sameness. Cars of various brands and models buzzed past the Ute, trundling towards their destinations. After a while, the mundane urban landscape gave way to a never-ending expanse of gum trees and grass flanking both sides of the roads.

Despite Cortana's continued insistence that Australia was a backwater shithole overrun with venomous creatures, Archer found himself transfixed by his surroundings. Archer had travelled to Australia on several occasions, although most of the time it was to debrief before the UNSC Security Council in Sydney and never got the chance to go sightseeing around the city. Long before, the Unified Earth Government's formation, Australia had been a lush paradise, hosting various climates and some of the strangest animals around.

Archer made a mental note to ask Raginald to show him around Sydney before they went off to Siberia. The Ute veered to the left onto a winding dirt road, flanked by overgrown shrubs and weather-ravaged old Acacia trees. Orange clouds of dirt sprayed up the sides of the car and streaked the windows, as the Ute prowled along the soft dirt road before lurching to a halt at a cluster of tall eucalyptus trees.

The engine died to an idle and Raginald climbed out of the car to retrieve the bags stowed in the boot. Within an instant, Archer rematerialised into existence as the distinctive green plates of armour formed upon a nanocomposite undersuit covering his body. Ceramic-reinforced calcium clumped together to form hardened bones and muscle fibres knit themselves together. His reborn lungs contracted as fresh air hissed into them, and the helmet assembled itself around Archer's face.

" _Sir, if you don't mind me asking, what's our plan of attack?"_ Archer asked, looking at Raginald as the Magus hefted his bags out of the Ute and set them onto the leaf-stricken ground.

" _Simple. While I have a wee chat with our dealer, you hang back and keep an eye on what's going on. If there's the slightest sign of danger, feel free to pump him full of lead."_ Raginald said, unzipping the bags and zipping them back up after examining his equipment.

" _I take it that you distrust this person."_ Archer continued.

" _Eh, not really. Astridis is a good weapon smuggler, one of the best in the business. The problem is that he tends to believe his hype and, sometimes he'll try to charge more than he should. Which, is why he might need some persuading."_ Raginald patted the back of his pants, where his concealed Model 29 rested.

Archer gripped the air as though he held an invisible rifle, and golden light flared from his fingertips, moulding itself into a sleek, black sniper rifle sporting a rectangular telescopic scope, bipod. The gun solidified in his hands, and it's metal exterior pressed into his gloved palms. The weapon weighed around 14 kilograms, yet Archer cradled it in his arms as though it was a toy. A feat impossible for an ordinary human being to do, when wielding a large weapon with recoil powerful enough to bruise their shoulder.

" _What the hell is that?"_ A note of concern had crept into Raginald's voice, as he studied Archer's weapon.

" _The Sniper Rifle System 99D-Series 2 Anti-Matériel, Sir. A high-calibre anti-matériel rifle designed to take out armoured and energy-shielded targets. This thing could split a hair on your head from 4 klicks away and cut through 13 feet of flesh in one shot."_ Archer tugged the weapon's charging bolt back.

Archer wasn't exaggerating. Skilled marksmen used the SRS99D-S2 AM to put holes in vehicles, buildings and anything that got in their way. Any living thing that took hits from the rifle's massive payload wouldn't bleed to death — they'd drop dead. All this was possible, thanks to the 14.5 x114mm APFSDSs that the gun fired, which dwarfed the .50 BMGs used by Raginald's M82. While the .50 BMG would rip you in half, a 14.5 x114mm APFSDS would turn you into chunky salsa.

" _Sheesh. That's some serious heat your packing there. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to meet with_ _Astridis."_ Raginald heaved both bags off the ground and sauntered off into the forest, dry leaves crunching with every step he took.

Archer reached to his belt, pulled out Cortana's data chip and slotted it into his helmet. A soft, high-pitched whine reverberated through his helmet, as the chip clicked into place. Cortana 's frantic, staccato breathing filled his ear and replaced the whine as quickly as it appeared.

" _Please don't do that to me again! I'll be good; I swear!"_ Cortana shrieked, her voice laced with fear.

" _Will you behave yourself?"_ Archer asked.

" _Do I ever?"_ Cortana responded.

" _Not always."_ Archer deadpanned.

" _So...how can I help you?"_ She took a deep breath between clenched teeth before continuing.

" _Well, Raginald's about to meet with the weapons smuggler, and he asked me to watch over him. I need you to watch the radar while I scope out the situation."_ Archer dropped to a knee and braced the SRS99D-S2 AM's stock against the hollow of his left shoulder.

" _Real subtle there, Chief"._ Cortana remarked.

The SRS99D-S2 AM's ambidextrous stock allowed Archer to rest the weapon against either of his shoulders when firing it. The cheek piece was the right height for Archer to give a cheek weld and centre his eye in line with the scope's eyepiece. He pulled his face away from the scope a touch, shutting one eye and then pressed his faceplate against the eyepiece.

Tangled tree roots, decaying logs and abundant underbrush stretched to infinity right before Archer's eye. The Magic Circuits inside him flared to life as his eyesight sharpened with razor-sharp and unnatural clarity. Archer's surroundings took shape like a photo dipped in development fluid: Huntsmen spiders scurried through the dense undergrowth, possums crawled along branches, and vines coiled themselves around tree trunks.

Life was everywhere.

" _And you wonder why I hate this goddamn country so much. Anything that lives in this forest is venomous or wants to eat you alive. Did you know that there are these Koalas called Drop Bears that jump out of trees to attack people? Not to mention that chance encounters with non-Australians are 100% fatal."_ Cortana complained.

" _Cortana, what should you be doing right now?"_ Archer reminded.

" _Alright, alright, I'll keep an eye on the radar, and stay frosty, Chief. Because Raggy's got company!"_ Cortana exclaimed, threatening to burst Archer's eardrums.

Archer panned the SRS99D-S2 AM right towards a wide gap between two trees. Through the hole, Archer spied Raginald standing in the middle of a long, somewhat narrow clearing, with his bags by his feet and talking to a slim figure. Raginald's companion was that of a curly-headed, slender man with a thick Mediterranean tan, dressed in a pale blue polo shirt and black running shorts. Black leather gloves covered his hands with a pair of Lennon-style spectacles hiding his eyes.

" _So, that must be Astridis,"_ Archer commented. He had somehow pictured Astridis as a hulking, overly-tattooed thug, not some well-dressed pretty boy. Static crackled through Archer's helmet and danced about in his ears, almost making him drop the SRS99D-S2 AM. Distant voices filtered through the helmet's high-performance sound system, warped by static and inaudible.

" _I hope you don't mind, but I've been adjusting your helmet's audio receptors, to make sure that Raggy doesn't say anything that'll get him killed. Now, let's have a listen, shall we?"_ Cortana noted.

The static faded to a crackle, then softened into nothingness. The voices returned, and this time, they rang perfect clarity. _"-let's see what you've got,"_ Astridis muttered, as he dropped to his haunches and began rummaging through Ragniald's bags.

" _Hmmm…. Desert Eagle, Barrett M82, Steyr AUG, M18A1s, M67s, M84, some Semtex, Browning Superposed and lots of ammo. Glad to see you're still breaking the law as always."_ Astridis observed, his voice high _-_ pitched and nasal.

" _I've been this game for a very long time, Asty. Bought, ducked, dodged and I'm still here. I've seen people come and ago, but the only trouble I've had with the law is getting a ticket for overtime parking."_ Raginald boasted.

" _I don't get why you dragged us out here in the middle of nowhere. I could've sent someone to get your stuff for you."_ Astridis complained as he rose back to his full height.

According to Raginald, Astridis often kept his smuggling business at arm's length and feared getting caught with his pants down. Speaking with a mercenary possessing illegal weapons in a national park was the work that Astridis would've passed on to an underling. But, Raginald wished to do things the old-fashioned way, instead of arranging for a courier to collect his equipment via email and wiring money into an offshore bank account. He didn't want to do anything suspicious or attract the attention of any would-be Suppressors, as per Forbes' instructions.

" _The Australian Signals Directorate can access electronic devices through in-built backdoors. They can tune in to your phone calls, read your messages, capture pictures of you, stream videos of you, read your emails, steal your files … at any moment they please. And considering that you run an arms smuggling business, that's bad news."_ Raginald lied.

" _Oh, I see. Do you have my money?"_ Astridis grumbled.

" _Right here, and I've included a 500 dollar bonus for you. Think of it as compensation for coming over to my neck of the woods."_ Raginaldheld up a hefty wad of bills, which he handed over to Astridis.

" _How thoughtful of you. I'll let you know when your gear arrives and where to find it."_ Astridis pocketed the bills and started carrying Raginald's bags.

" _Pleasure doing business with you."_ Raginald mumbled as he began walking back towards his Ute.

" _Looks like Raggy didn't need to persuade Astridis after all."_ Cortana mused.

The SRS99D-S2 AM in Archer's hands flickered out of reality and dissolved into a cloud of Prana. He stood to full attention and gave a salute, watching his Master approach the Ute with a satisfied smile on his face. Raginald pulled out a Cuban cigar out of a pocket, lit and took a long pull on it.

" _Sir. Now that you've completed negotiations with Astridis, what's our next move?"_ Archer wondered aloud.

 _"It's simple: we hit the books and spend the next three months preparing ourselves."_ Raginald tugged the cigar from his lips and exhaled a plume of blue-grey smoke.

 _"We'll learn everything there is to know about everyone competing in the War. I want to understand what we're going up against and see if we can trust the people on our side."_ He added, before sticking the cigar back between his teeth.

" _Paranoid much?"_ Cortana asked.

" _You know, Cortana, a wise man once said, that the only person you can trust is yourself._ _Now let's go home. We've got lots of work to do and damn little time to get it done_ _"._ Raginald said.

* * *

" _We make our own luck, but I'll always be there when you need me."_ _ **-The Master Chief**_

 **The Master Chief:**

 **-Titles:** Humanity's Savior, Knight of Warfare, Reclaimer, The Demon, SPARTAN-117, Flood Slayer, Preventor of Omnicide

 **-Alternative Classes:** Rider, Berserker, Lancer, Saber, Ruler and Saver

 **-Alignment:** Lawful Good

 **-Class:** Archer

 **-Weaponry:** Various UNSC and Covenant weapons

 **-Origin:** _Halo_

 **-Summoning Relic:** His MJOLNIR Mark IV helmet

 **Parameters:**

 **-Strength:** B

 **-Agility:** B

 **-Endurance:** B

 **-Mana:** C

 **-Luck:** A+

 **Legend:**

Otherwise known as **The Master Chief** , John-117 was the most exemplary Spartan in the UNSC armed forces. John was six when the UNSC government took him and seventy other children for lifelong training. He was determined to be as near to a perfect human being as it is possible to be and fit to undertake the physical and mental discipline necessary to become a Spartan. At the age of fourteen, John underwent physical augmentation with only thirty-two children in the Spartan program surviving the process.

Subsequently, John joined a team of Spartans dubbed Blue Team, growing close to them over the course of many successful missions. When the alien empire known as the Covenant attacked the planet Reach, John and his squad fled onboard the _Pillar of Autumn_. A decorated war hero by the name of Keyes crashed the ship on a strange ringworld and John discovered that the Ringworld was called Halo and sacred to the Covenant, having been created by extraterrestrials called the Forerunners. After the release of an alien parasite dubbed the Flood, John assisted a robotic entity known as 343 Guilty Spark in activating Halo and destroying the parasite.

What Spark failed to mention was that activating the ring would kill all sentient life in the universe to prevent the flood from spreading. Fortunately, John halted Guilty Spark by overloading the _Pillar of Autumn_ 's engines, destroying Halo and Covenant ground forces. John captured a Covenant ship, rescuing the survivors of the Spartan project before heading back to Earth. Here, the Covenant Prophet of Regret attacked them, following the instructions of a sacred prophecy and came to Earth looking for Forerunner artefacts, unaware that it was the human homeworld.

After a short but bloody battle, in orbit and on the surface, the Prophet performed a disappeared, closely followed by the _In Amber Clad_ with John on board. When the ship dropped out of slip space, it quickly became clear that the Prophet had discovered another Halo. John went into action on the ringworld's surface to kill Regret while Miranda Keyes, Captain Keyes' daughter, tried to prevent its activation by getting to the Index before the Covenant.

John succeeded in his mission but lost consciousness when a Covenant ship glassed the area in an attempt to kill him. Miranda, on the other hand, was captured when the Arbiter, a Covenant holy warrior, arrived to claim the index. John was sent to find the Index at the Covenant city of _High Charity_ by Gravemind, the Flood's controlling mind as the Covenant believed that activating the Ring would ascend them into godhood. The Prophet escaped on a Forerunner ship, heading for Earth and John followed, stowed away on the massive vessel.

After the arrival of an infected Flood ship on Earth, John allied himself with 343 Guilty Spark again and followed Truth through the portal and engaged his troops. Victorious in all engagements John stopped Truth from activating the rings, allowing the Arbiter to kill him. Unfortunately, they arrived in late to save Miranda Keyes, who was shot in the back by Truth while she tried to kill herself and Sergeant Johnson.

The Gravemind chose this moment to make its play and betrayed John, trying to infect him and the Arbiter. Using the index from the first Halo, John activated an incomplete ring, that would destroy the Ark and the Flood with it. However Guilty Spark went rampant when he realised that the plan would ruin the semi-constructed Halo. John activated Halo and escaped in the ship that had brought him to the Ark. Unfortunately, the portal collapsed while he went through it and left him stranded, beyond the blast radius of Halo but in the space beyond the galaxy. John predicted that it would be several years before he would found and froze himself.

 **Class Skills:**

 **-Independent Action (A):** The ability to remain independent and exist in the world without the magical energy supplied by a Master, allowing the Servant to act autonomously and the Master to save their own magical energy for spells. John can act without a Master except when it comes to the use of high-cost Noble Phantasms, and he can remain in the world for a week without a Master.

 **-Magic Resistance: (D):** An innate ability that grants protection against magical effects. Unlike the Resistance effect which merely rejects Magical Energy, this ability cancels the spells altogether. John can only cancel Single-Action spells but will falter against more complex and stronger spells.

 **Personal Skills:**

 **-(True) Eye of the Mind (B-):** A heightened capacity for observation, refined through training, discipline and experience. A danger-avoidance ability that utilises the intelligence collected up to the current time as the basis, to predict the opponent's activity or change the current situation. John's competency makes his capable of analysing battle conditions even when in danger and deduce an appropriate course of action after considering all possibilities to escape from a predicament. So long there is a 1% chance of a comeback, this ability significantly improves the chances of winning.

 **-(Firearms) Projectile (A+):** The ability to enhance the effectiveness of firearms and rank up to Agility when attempting to draw first. Rifle bullets strike with the force of a bunker-buster, or, at John's discretion, pierce through 10 feet of solid granite, and a pistol may hit with the power of a mortar shell. These magic bullets are capable of obliterating mere human or Magi while Servants who take a direct hit will sustain considerable damage.

 **-** **Expert of Many Specializations (A++):** The knowledge of many professional talents, this Skill makes it possible to recall anything learned in life, even if it was something that would ordinarily be is well-versed in all forms of combat, from the intimate theatres of unarmed combat and small arms to the tactical operation of fighting vehicles, including UNSC starfighters. He has performed in, almost any sort of likely combat scenario - recon, sabotage, fire support, assault, infiltration.

 **Noble Phantasms:**

 **-A Spartan's Arsenal: I Need A Weapon**

 ***Rank:** E+ - A

 ***Type:** Anti-Unit

 ***Description:** This arsenal holds every weapon or item that John-117 ever utilised during the Human-Covenant War. Not only are human weapons available to John but Covenant plasma and Forerunner weapons as well. All available weapons and equipment are stored within an extra-dimensional storage pocket to be retrieved as needed by John directly summoning a specific item into his hands when required. Objects placed in this pocket dimension are tethered to the material world by John's Prana supply, and he can only carry two weapons alongside several grenades at a time.

 **-Mjolnir Powered Assault Armor Mark IV: Iconic Armor of Hope and Victory**

 ***Rank:** C

 ***Type:** Support

 ***Description:** The brainchild of Dr Catherine Halsey and the most advanced piece of war gear constructed by the UNSC, the MJOLNIR Powered Assault Armor Mark IV turns an already great SPARTAN into something termed _"a one person army"_. It is almost impervious to attack; a formidable energy shield enhances the armour's reinforced alloys and composite armour. The suit improves John's already considerable speed and strength and can even mount a compatible UNSC AI.

The suit also contains an integrated comm suite, powerful HUD and the ability to handle small injuries through intelligent first aid systems. Finally, the MJOLNIR suit can also utilise a series of modular equipment packages - enhanced armour, jetpacks, increased speed and agility - depending on what the situation dictates. The armour makes John almost impossible to lift off the ground and provides a nigh-impenetrable defence. But weak points exist in the joints and visor, but even these are almost impenetrable.

 **-CTN 0452-9: I Am Your Shield, I Am Your Sword**

 ***Rank:** D

 ***Type:** Anti-Technology

 ***Description:** An AI construct interfacing with John's MJOLNIR helmet, Cortana is the Master Chief's most potent weapon, most important asset and closest friend. Based on the mind of Doctor Halsey, one of the UNSC's most intelligent scientists, Cortana is almost a replica of a human brain. Due to this, Cortana is witty and sarcastic, playful and perceptive - yet she is neither arrogant nor modest about her extensive capabilities, particularly in the fields of electronic warfare, data analysis and countermeasures to thwart the same.

Cortana pledges loyalty to John, wishing to protect him from any further harm, and willing to help with any task he requires of her. With Cortana, John can easily infiltrate high-level security suites for information or other things as well as allow him to control vehicles. Cortana is capable of subverting and reprogramming advanced computer security AIs with such skill that no one can realise they've even altered. She can also load herself into alien systems and operate within them to destroy any AIs already present.


	4. Meet And Greet

**Author's Note:**

 **Been absent with this thirty-three page leviathan of a chapter for a long while now, over seven months at this point.**

 **Still, better late than never, right?!**

 **Anyway, on with the story!**

 _Chapter 4: Meet And Greet_

 _International Airport Irkutsk, Irkutsk Oblast, Eastern Siberia_

 _ALESSANDRO_

 _10:10 AM, 31st May 2018_

Alessandro Agapito was a young man of many talents. He could speak fluent Classical Greek, Classical Latin, _Gaeilge_ and many other languages as if he were a native speaker. He could read and write in long-dead writing systems such as Sumerian cuneiform and Ottoman Turkish with relative ease. He could recite Schleicher's Fable in Proto-Indo-European by heart without making the slightest mistake over and over until he lost count.

Navigating his way through the noisy, bustling terminals of Irkutsk International Airport was not one of them. All around him, a thousand voices babbled as one in a multitude of tongues and people rushed past each other, luggage trailing behind them. Intense fear rooted Alessandro's feet to the ground, and a paralysing tingle crawled up the length of his spinal cord like a swarm of invisible spiders.

 _Come on, Aless. I know you can do this, but you have to take it easy._ Lancer's easy-going, gentle voice echoed through the confines of Alessandro's head. Alessandro had never been one for going out and about, as he preferred to spend his days helping his grandparents run their Messinan antique bookshop. When he wasn't busy assisting in the store's day to day running, one could find him in his room studying linguistics texts or translating non-Italian literature for a price.

Pity he wasn't doing either now. His trembling lips parted to allow air into his lungs, and the tremors wracking his frame subsided. His sneakered left foot smacked against the ground with the thud of rubber against polished marble. Alessandro thrust his right out in suit, carrying his body forwards and soon his feet began to fall into a steady rhythm.

His shoes scraped against the marble floor as he strode to the long queue leading to the immigration section. Alessandro's heart hammered against his sternum in a wild, staccato beat while he joined the tail end of the snaking line. He disliked being around so many people at once, who observed his every move in the same way one scrutinised a microbe under a microscope.

One by one, the queuers marched onwards to the front desk to state their business and have their passports stamped by an official. The process repeated itself, again and again, ad infinitum until Alessandro stood before the brutish official manning the desk. Hard steel grey eyes drilled into Alessandro's spectacled soft blue, as the official sized up the young man.

" _What's the nature of your visit to Siberia?"_ The official inquired in fluent if accented, English. The immigration agent was, forty-something, and so bored by his job that he struggled to rest his considerable bulk on the high, padded stool in the little booth.

" _Uh . . ."_ Alessandro murmured, blinking to suppresses the instinctive anxiety gripping his stomach and focus on responding. A split second of hesitation that was the excitement the immigration official had longed for, the off-kilter answer he had trained his ears to pick up. The man's spine straightened and his eyes sharpened, as he leaned forward to search Alessandro's face.

" _What's the nature of your visit?"_ he repeated, his voice now inﬂected. _Vi-sit._

" _Why, I—"_ Alessandro remembered that he was not required to tell the story of his life, standing here in immigration. He did not have to say to this man that he was a Magi scorned and branded an outcast by his family. He did not have to tell the official about his lifelong desire to explore the intricacies of spoken and written languages. He did not have to explain how he and 13 others had gotten roped into a secret tournament where they commanded the souls of historical and mythological figures to get a wish granted.

 _Tell him that you're a tourist, and he'll leave you alone._ Lancer advised, always eager to offer help or encouragement and quick to think on his feet. All Alessandro had to say was, " _I'm... I'm a tourist"_ , which came out as a stuttering mess of vowels.

" _Do you happen to be carrying any firearms or drugs on you or in your luggage?"_ The official interrogated.

" _N-n-no, sir."_ Alessandro stammered, trying to sound polite and formal.

'' _How long will you be staying in Siberia for?"_ The official asked, studying Alessandro's face in a probing manner, searching for anything that would give him away.

The last question worried Alessandro the least, as Forbes had somehow gotten his hands on a false passport with a Russian business visa. Something issued to those who came to Russia for business purposes, as foreign ambassadors, official delegates and cultural exchange visitors. But, because the visa allowed the owner to stay within Russia for 90 days, and multiple entries into the country, ordinary travellers, also used it for flexibility.

Alessandro had no idea how Forbes managed to acquire something illegal like a false passport with a Russian business visa, let alone fourteen of them. He had a suspicion that Forbes broke more than a few laws and did some somewhat questionable things to get those items. The only explanations that made some sense were that Forbes had bottomless pockets or some influential friends in high places, which come to think of it explained a lot.

''Two m-m-months,'' Alessandro mumbled as he handed over his counterfeit passport to the official so that it could get stamped.

Upon returning from Scotland, he and Lancer opened their manila envelope to find a bundle of numbered letters. A note instructed them to open the first after returning to Italy and open the others in order when they had fulfilled the contents of a letter's predecessor. The first stated that the Grail War would occur in Russia's Irkutsk Oblast from June to July while advising the duo to avoid communicating with their teammates and drawing the attention of Suppressors during the War's lead up.

''I hope you enjoy your stay.'' The official grunted, as he opened the passport at the page with the photograph on it and compared it with its owner's appearance. He then slammed his stamp on to a red-ink pad and punched it onto Alessandro's passport, granting passage into Siberia.

Alessandro drew in a deep sigh and shoved his passport into his back pocket, wiping the sweat off his brow with a hanky. He trotted off towards the small baggage claim area where a lengthy baggage carousel awaited him. Disembarkers clustered around the carousel jostled each other to reclaim their bags, surging forward in an attempt to snatch up their belongings.

Alessandro knew better than to become trapped by the crowd's tidal pull and waited at the carousel's uncrowded end. It reminded him of seagulls squabbling over a dead fish, from watching disembarkers struggle to reclaim their belongings. But instead of non-stop incessant squawking and fighting over smelly fish, the passengers swore at each other in various languages and battled over baggage.

All manner of bags slid down an ambling conveyor belt with reaching hands snatching them up one by one. Alessandro's eyes widened as he spotted his bag -a bulky brown suitcase- drifting over to him. He sprang into action and with a strength that betrayed his wiry frame, he hauled the suitcase off the carousel. The bag smashed on the floor with a mighty _bang_ , as Alessandro extended the carry handle and started for the airport's pick-up zone.

Arm and back muscles strained in protest from lugging his rolling suitcase behind him. As he stepped out of the baggage claim area, the Italian youth scanned the crowd waiting outside for familiar faces but failed to see anyone he recognized. Throngs of travel guides, taxi drivers, and hotel chauffeurs waved signs with names on them. Names of passengers, hotels or companies while they scanned the emerging passengers for ones they had come to meet.

Alessandro noticed a few _politsiya_ patrolling the concourse, as he scanned his surroundings, but they paid no attention to him. The unhealthy weight of fear and despair settled on his shoulders, upon realizing that he was all alone in a Siberian airport with no ride or no one available to pick him up. Part of Alessandro wished that Forbes hadn't been so strict on not having open lines of communication with his teammates.

 _Hey, hang in there, okay? I'm pretty sure everything will turn out-_

Right on cue, heavy footfalls echoed behind Alessandro and cut Lancer off, getting closer every second. _Thud, thud, thud._ His thinking mind, the prefrontal cortex, froze as it waited for the fight or flight to kick into overdrive, a survival mechanism stemming from the oldest circuits within the brain. The boy's hand dived into a pocket to grasp a 58mm Victorinox Swiss Army Knife, and his fingers worked to free its pen blade.

 _Fine?_ Lancer finished, as Alessandro spun to face his attacker. He found himself face to face with a wiry, muscular man dressed in ripped denim jeans and a light-blue t-shirt with brown, slip-on sandals covering his feet. Alessandro stared back at a narrow, weather-beaten face with sharp cheekbones and freckles dotting his cheeks. A messy mat of red hair rested above his forehead and furrowed brow while intense blue eyes stared through Alessandro like those of a hawk.

Alessandro's makeshift knife trembled in his palm as they gazed at each other for a few moments, amidst the hustle and bustle of the airport. The man then broke the silence with a question.

" _Alessandro Agapito? Master to Lancer of Themis?"_ he asked in a gruff voice that sounded like he had smoked a packet a day.

 _Who the hell is this guy?_ Lancer pondered, doing little to hide his confusion. Alessandro's heart went into overdrive, the air in his lungs trapped in a vice as he blurted out, _"Who are you and how did you find me?"_. His mind pulsed with an endless number of possibilities and rifled through his short term memories in an attempt to identify the man.

" _Assassin of Themis. Master sent me to find you. Journal said when and where you'd go,"_ Assassin continued in his terse manner of speech. He whipped out a weathered cowhide journal and flicked through its stained pages until he found what he was looking for. He cleared his throat with a horse _"ahem"_ before reading the selected passage aloud.

" _31st May 2018_

 _10:00 AM: Agapito disembarks at International Airport Irkutsk. Paralyzed for ten minutes before queuing at Immigration._

 _10:40 AM: Immigration official interrogates Agapito to out him as a terrorist or criminal. Finds nothing. Reclaims luggage while avoiding crowds._

 _10:45 AM: Agapito finds himself lost in pick-up zone. Struggles to recognize teammates. Intercepted by Assassin of Themis."_

Alessandro's brain numbed with shock as it absorbed how Assassin's journal had predicted every one of his movements with eerie clarity. The book itself must have been some Noble Phantasm that let Assassin gaze upon the endless and erratic future in tiny, fleeting glimpses. He could only imagine what sort of advantages that kind of Noble Phantasm could have had if it fell into the wrong hands.

Assassin, on the other hand, showed no concern for such implications and shoved his journal into a pocket. _"Follow me,"_ he muttered, setting a brisk pace towards the exit leading straight into the airport's car park.

 _You think we can trust this guy? He could be leading us right into a trap._ Lancer wondered, a twinge of worry creeping into his voice.

 _I guess we'll find out_ , Alessandro's sweaty hand tightened on the Swiss Army Knife, as he kept close to Assassin and his brain buzzed with fear and electric exhilaration. After about 15 minutes of walking, they reached a small half-deserted car park, and warm, humid air enveloped them. Alessandro felt glad that he wore light clothes before leaving Italy, consisting of a crisp white shirt paired with grey checkered trousers and white sneakers.

While Alessandro's turnout was stylish, his hair was a complete and utter mess. Short, mousy-brown hair tussled in no particular style, shape, or design hung forward over his forehead. Combined with the thick square glasses perched on his nose, he wouldn't have looked out of place in a library, as one of it's book-loving patrons or the librarian operating the circulation desk.

Assassin slowed almost to a halt upon approaching a window-tinted CX-9 SUV parked at the far end of the parking lot. Alessandro noticed a slender, elderly man propped against the driver's door of the car, arms crossed and a broad smile plastered on his kind, open face. The man attired himself in thigh-hugging khaki chino pants, a blue polo shirt, and shiny brown leather loafers.

Black hair receded from his forehead in a pronounced widow's peak, and trustworthy warm brown eyes observed the pair. Faded scars stretched across the edges of his chin, roughing up the charm in the most appealing way. The man had to be in his fifties or sixties, yet he carried himself with the poise of a man twenty years younger, as he stepped forward to greet the youth. Alessandro detected vague recognition in his eyes, someone he had met or seen long ago but not remembered.

" _Hello, Alessandro. Long-time no see. How was your flight?"_ The older man extended a hand toward Alessandro, which he accepted in a weak handshake.

" _Fine"_ Alessandro mumbled, his nerves frayed raw by a 23-hour long flight, social anxiety and endless paranoia.

" _We've all been waiting for you."_ The man continued in a heavy Belgian accent, awaiting Alessandro's response.

" _We? Who's we?"_ The words croaked out of Alessandro's mouth.

" _Why the rest of Team Themis, of course! Everyone's arrived this week, and they haven't done much of anything, because you hadn't shown up yet."_ Belgian revealed. He paused for a moment, noticing the sweat glistened upon Alessandro's fear-bleached face.

" _Are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."_ Sincere concern entered Belgian's voice.

" _Don't worry. I'm a little jet-lagged. Could I please see your Command Seals? I want to make sure we were both on the same side."_ Alessandro tried to make eye contact with his potential. Alessandro hated small talk—he found it exhausting to envision every possible response at best during a conversation and an absolute nightmare at worst because he couldn't predict how someone would react to what he said.

" _I'll show you mine if you'll show me yours."_ Belgian smiled from ear to ear and raised a hand to show his Command Seals.

" _Deal."_ Alessandro injected some enthusiasm into his voice, as he mimicked Belgian by showing the back of his left hand. Lancer snickered, while Assassin's face twisted in disgust at his Master's innuendo. Alessandro leaned closer to study Belgian's Command Seals and stared at jagged lines winding across Belgian's hand in angular patterns branching into smaller ones and covering every inch of bare skin.

Alessandro's Command Seals were much simpler and consisted of a sunburst of diamonds enclosing an equilateral triangle, which occupied the dorsal side of his hand. While the Seals differed in complexity and appearance, they both shared a common feature. If one looked close enough at them, they would've noticed a faint, shimmering outline of a capital "T" extending down each Master's hand.

An outline very familiar to both of them and allayed Alessandro's paranoia. The outline on the Seals was according to Forbes' letter, a safety precaution to ensure any would-be Masters aligned with Team Themis could identify one another as teammates. Although, Alessandro failed to see the practicality in having a glorified ID card on his hand that glittered a lot. He might as well have had the words _"Team Themis"_ carved into his forehead in all caps.

" _I hope this clears things up and shows that we're both on the same side,"_ Belgian commented, lowering his hand to his hip and starting towards the SUV.

" _Come on. We don't want to keep everyone waiting."_ Belgian hopped into the front seat while Assassin loaded Alessandro's luggage into the car's boot.

" _I'm sorry, I didn't quite get your name,"_ Alessandro asked, voice free of nervousness while he and Assassin settled into a back seat. The plush leather yielded to the contours of his back, as though it was custom-tailored for him.

" _Oh, silly me! I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Meine, Boele Meine."_ Boele climbed behind the wheel and started up the SUV's engine with a healthy, reassuring diesel rumble. Assassin and Alessandro lurched into their seats, as the SUV pulled out of its parking space with a squeal of tyres and made a sharp turn to the right.

Alessandro peered out of a tinted backseat window as the SUV drove away from International Airport Irkutsk. Boele hummed a jaunty tune, driving the car through streets lined with shops of every description along with profusions of cafes and restaurants. Miles to the east, modern high-rise buildings stretched across the sunny horizon like metal mountains. In the near-distance housing developments of identical buildings spread across a landscape carpeted with thick _taiga_ forests bordered by gentle sloping hills.

Alessandro spent most of the drive with his face stuck up against the glass like a five-year-old. He loved the little differences that let you know you were a different country: billboards with prices marked in rubles, road signs written in the _Cyrillic_ alphabet and _marshrutkas_ navigating sharp street corners. Watching the frenzied chaos outside helped him to relax and clear his mind of all the stress that came with day-to-day living.

Serenity overcame him, and all of his worries slipped away. He relished in it and didn't move at all. He sat there looking upon his surroundings, hands pressed against the glass, a young man shrouded in absolute peace. He was only conscious of a warm, luxurious relief, an incredible sensation. Moments like these made him realise that gremlins of the past and anxiety-filled moments of the future robbed too much of his life.

Alessandro spent a lot of time worrying about what would happen tomorrow and what happened in the past. The irony was that he couldn't change anything that happened, whether it happened five minutes or five years ago. The same was true of tomorrow, as Alessandro could only affect what happened in the present. He always worried himself sick about forgetting to help his grandparents with daily chores or if his attic bedroom's roof would collapse while he slept.

But, like all good things in Alessandro's life, this respite came to an end when the then-silent Assassin spoke.

" _May I show my real face, Master?"_ He leant forward with a twinge of excitement in his voice.

" _Knock yourself out,"_ Boele told him. The air surrounding Assassin warped and bent like a heatwave, as his clothing reformed. Assassin's face lay behind blank white fabric shot through with shifting blobs of black while a battered fedora sat on his head. A grey scarf coiled around his neck with grubby elevator shoes clinging to the Servant's feet. But most noticeable of all was the tattered, stained reddish-brown trench coat hugging Assassin's slim frame, held in place by a ratty drawstring.

A foul stench emanated outward from Assassin, born from a mixture of urine's raw acrid odour and blood's heavy festering scent. The gag reflex gripped Alessandro's throat, and his innards lurched at the smell like a Rottweiler off a choke chain. He stifled the urge to vomit, as cheap airline food sloshed about in his stomach and dizziness overtook it.

Boele must've sensed Alessandro's discomfort or taken a whiff of that smell because cold, filtered air blasted into his face. The need to empty his guts eased away and Alessandro flopped back in his chair, attempting to hide his apprehension. Assassin smelt like he hadn't showered in a very long time and his clothes were in desperate need of a washing.

How on Earth did Boele put up with such an awful smell?

" _Sorry about the smell. Assassin hates showering and getting him to do so is like trying to wash a cat. He's scared someone will kill him in the shower."_ Boele explained like he'd read Alessandro's mind. Alessandro would've found hilarity in the mental image of Boele standing guard outside a bathroom while his paranoid Servant showered. But, given how Assassin's behaviour implied that he had a mental disturbance, he couldn't bring himself to laugh.

 _Ah, Aless? This is nice and all, but can I ride with you guys? Floating around and doing nothing makes me kinda numb._ Lancer asked voice tinged with tiredness. According to Lancer, moving about in Spirit form was something of a strange experience as he could get to places impossible to reach at the cost of not being able to touch, smell or taste anything around him. But, he didn't have to worry about making passing conversation with anyone passing by.

 _Sure._ With that one word, specks of prana came out of nowhere, like snowflakes in headlights; they danced and spun like sparks from an unseen fire; they glittered and glowed like stars, forming a new universe and gathering into galaxies. The shower of sparks flowed downward in a spiral onto the middle seat, like a galaxy; then, as Alessandro watched, amazed, the spiral form into the outline of a person.

What had been all light and motion began to collect into form and substance. First, the white of bone, and then the red of blood and flesh wrapping itself around the bone. Veins drew themselves in, and nerves snapped into place. Sinews crisscrossed the form, pulling and tugging it into the familiar shape of a human body.

It was like watching the opposite of decay―the creation of mortal life. With the speed of thought, Lancer's clothing materialised around his body: blazing red duster, sleeveless black shirt with matching white-trimmed jacket, ornate pocket watch affixed to a brown leather belt, pale gloves and dark combat boots. Cloth rustled behind Lancer, and his metal right arm creaked as he buckled into his seat, covering his nose with a gloved after he whiffed Assassin's scent.

" _Ah! It seems that we have a new passenger."_ Boele took notice of the now-existent Lancer. He was very unfazed, watching a Servant manifest right before his very eyes, almost like it was an everyday occurrence. Then again, he was a Master, and the mystique of seeing Servants appear out of thin air had well-worn off at this point.

" _Whew! It smells like something died in here!"_ Lancer complained, mirroring Alessandro's sentiments. His face turned pale and gaunt as he gagged, trying not to vomit from the cocktail of urine, blood and faeces emanating outwards from Assassin.

" _Don't worry—you'll get used to it,"_ Boele reassured with a laugh and continued to drive. Lancer flopped back in his seat and mumbled "Yeah, right," under his breath, unbeknownst that Assassin, who sat to his left, had stared at him the whole time. His masked face refused to betray any emotion or expression that lay behind it.

" _What the hell are you looking at?"_ Lancer scowled, fixing Assassin with an intense gaze and less than happy with how his companion looked at him. A long, tense pause filled the car as the two raked each other with steady stares, each trying to size the other one up for what felt like an eternity. No one dared move until Assassin spoke.

" _You. Look like a faggot. Very short."_ Assassin spat, disgusted at the younger man. He studied Lancer like an insect under a microscope with morbid fascination. Utter revulsion overcame Alessandro, and his lips pulled back in a disgusted grimace. How could someone such say such a hateful remark with so much indifference?

As soon as those words left Assassin's mouth, Lancer grabbed Assassin by the lapels of his trenchcoat and shoved him against a window with strength belying his small size. Lancer scowled as he stared at Assassin, a dead-eyed stare. This was not good at all, and things were about to get ugly real fast.

Alessandro's heart seized up—which almost stopped beating altogether. Powerless terror paralyzed his limbs and rendered them useless, as he tried to shrink away from the conflict. His desert-dry mouth moved but made no sensible sounds and guts rolled over themselves like eels in a trap. He wanted nothing more than to curl into a ball and pretend that he didn't even exist.

" _Call me a midget... one more time… and you'll lose a kidney!"_ Lancer snarled, and Alessandro swore he that glass cracked as Lancer pressed Assassin against the window. If there was one thing that Lancer hated more than drinking milk or people asking about his love life, it was having his lacking height mentioned. Talk of his _"vertical deficiency,"_ as he called, blinded him with fury and made him take any comments about it out of context.

" _Wait, Lancer, he didn't mean it like that!"_ Alessandro yelped, trying to get Lancer to calm down. It surprised him that Lancer got upset over getting called _"short"_ instead of how Assassin disliked his apparel or made an assumption about his sexuality. He couldn't imagine someone could getting so insecure about their stature they would regard any remarks about it to be worse than homophobia or having their ensemble mocked.

" _How about I gouge out eyes? Much worse than losing kidney."_ Assassin rasped, seizing Lancer's head between his hands if to tear it off with thumbs hovering above Lancer's golden eyes. Assassin made it clear that he had no problems with doing such an act. His fedora sat askew on his head, as he leant forward to meet Lancer's face while his was unreadable behind the inkblot mask.

The CX-9 came to a screeching halt and threw everyone forward, straining against the straps holding them in place. The stop flung Alessandro with crushing force against his seatbelt, knocking the wind out of him, then rebounding back against the seat as the car slammed on its breaks. Boele peeked behind his chair to see Lancer and Assassin grapple with one another while them both giving a disapproving look.

" _You two better behave yourselves! I'd hate to waste a Command Seal, and this car needs to be kept in one piece! You'll have plenty of time to sort out your differences later!"_ Boele scolded, furious with the two Servants while taking in the scene, head tipped forward, and chin dipped down. Lancer slunk away from Assassin with his face hanging down in embarrassment and Assassin peeled himself off the window, revealing a hairline crack slithering through the glass.

" _I'm so sorry about this. Lancer flips out when people mention his... height."_ Alessandro apologized, while Lancer shot a dirty look at his Master. It had been a while since Lancer had gotten outraged at having his height discussed and this by far was one of his more aggressive outbursts. Most of the time, Lancer often hurled nonsensical threats at whoever had incurred his wrath, yet he never intended to fulfil such promises.

" _Don't fret. Assassin's something of a loner and isn't much of a people person."_ Boele's steely voice softened and turned his head back towards the windshield. Assassin coughed and cleared his throat, but otherwise remained silent as the car's engine started up again and Boele put it back into drive. The SUV continued to move forward at a rapid pace as if nothing happened for a few minutes before coming to another stop.

" _Why are we stopping again? What's happened? What's going on?"_ Alessandro babbled, fear washing over him at the turn of events. He prayed to whatever deities that existed that they hadn't broken down in the middle of nowhere. Grey wolves liked to lurk in forested areas for prey and tended to attack in packs with unrelenting savagery. Alessandro hoped at the very least that they wouldn't come across such animals or have to fight them.

" _Yeah, why have we stopped?"_ Lancer verbalised his Master's thoughts. His face had a confused look, trying to determine what was going on. The eyes of Servant and Master alike feel upon Boele gazing upon a spacious and magnificent mansion looming before the SUV.

" _Gentlemen, we have reached our destination. Welcome to your new home for the next two months!"_ With a dramatic flourish worthy of applause, Boele gestured towards the house. A blissful smile stretched across his beaming face as far and as wide as an ocean. Pure, unbounded joy lit up his eyes as though a light switch had gotten flipped on.

It looked like something out of a homeowner's magazine with a wide porch boasting a marble _balustrade_ enclosing the upper landing, and graceful, Greco-Roman columns on either side of the entryway supported a curved upper deck. Golden snarling lion statues stood guard near the stairs leading up to the front door; fangs bared for all to see. Expansive manicured lawns, an iron fence and plenty of trees extended half a mile in both directions around the mansion.

Thick ivy draped the manor from top to bottom and streamed down the massive pillars giving the house poise and stability. Six eight-foot-tall windows lined the first floor across its width with tall black shutters framing them. Two tall brown doors stood in the middle of the house's face wide open with long tarnished brass handles. Leaves littered the front porch while two-foot square stone slabs led from a gravel road trailing to the house's front.

" _Holy-moly! Look at the size of that thing!"_ Lancer gasped in wonder at the sight looming ahead of him.

" _It's… so… beautiful."_ Alessandro struggled to find the right words. Never in his wildest dreams, did he imagine that he and Lancer would stay in a mansion during the Grail War's tenure. He often envisioned their temporary residence to be something like a rickety old cabin situated in a humid, temperate forest infested by biting insects. The theory about Forbes being able to spend money like water started to seem more and more plausible with each passing day.

The CX-9 ambled towards the path leading to the mansion and passed through the gates. Alessandro jolted in his seat, as gravel crunched under the wheels of the car when it pulled up in front of the porch. The engine died with a _purr_ , and Boele put the vehicle in _"Park"_ , turned off the engine before getting out on the driver's side.

Alessandro followed suit, undoing the seat belt and clambering off his seat. His car door swung open to let in a gust of fresh, clean air rush into the car and Alessandro drank it in. He gasped, as he stumbled across the gravel and tumbled in a heap onto the lawn, chest heaving.

" _I've never... been so glad... to get fresh air... into my... lungs."_ He puffed. After spending so long riding in an SUV with the filthy Assassin, breathing in some much-needed air was a godsend. Grass rubbed against his back, and above him, the orange sun blazed down from a clear blue sky of fascinating depth that stretched to infinity.

" _You... and…. me... both."_ Lancer hissed, propping himself up against the car's rear. His legs wobbled, ready to give away at any second while his chest, puffed nonstop. A second later, Assassin clambered free from the SUV, using his left hand to readjust his fedora and the right to pull out his diary at the same time. Lancer glared swords at the Servant, but Assassin paid him no heed and began scribbling into the book with a lead pencil.

Boele meanwhile ran a finger over the delicate crack that Assassin left on the SUV's rear window. His face wore an expression of utmost concern and worry, as he observed the crack while muttering _"How am I supposed to explain this to the insurance company!?"_. Alessandro guessed that Boele would have to pay through the nose for the damage done and come up with a bogus cover story to explain how the window got cracked in the first place.

" _Sorry about the crack. I can fix it for you,"_ said Lancer, who was no longer winded by Assassin's foul stench. Boele shuffled aside as Lancer strode over to the window while cracking his knuckles. Alessandro flinched upon hearing that sound because it always conjured up mental images of bones snapping and cartilage snapping.

" _You can? How!?"_ Boele yelped in equal parts, amazement, and befuddlement.

" _Just watch and learn!"_ Lancer grinned, pressing both hands together to let twisting serpents of lightning slither and snarl around his arms. Spider-webs of neon-blue raced across the window as Lancer thrust his palms against it and the crack shrank away in the blink of an eye until it became non-existent.

" _There, good as new,"_ Lancer announced. Smoke wafted upwards from the SUV and Lancer stood aside to let Boele inspect his handiwork. Boele stood there, confounded at the now pristine window before him and tracing an index finger where the crack used to be. Almost as though he refused to accept that it was long gone and the window all repaired.

" _How did you do that!?"_ Boele's eyes almost bugged out of his head. He seemed to have great difficulty comprehending what he saw.

" _I used Alchemy to fix the window,"_ Lancer stated matter-of-fact. According to Lancer, the Alchemy that he used was something akin to science rather than the school of Magecraft that Alessandro was familiar with. Alchemists like him researched in a manner similar to Magi and those serving the government of Lancer's homeland needed to prove their research's results every year to keep receiving grants.

" _Really? I've never heard of Alchemy being used to fix windows."_ Boele replied, the puzzlement evident in his voice. Alessandro had the same reaction when he first learnt of Lancer's skill with Alchemy. It took him a while for him to wrap his head around the fact that Lancer's _"Alchemy"_ was much different than what most Magi used thanks to several traits.

First, Lancer could alter materials via tectonic shifts and geothermal energy. Second, transmuting an object involved analysing its structure, splitting matter into components, and synthesising them into the desired shape. And third, you had to sacrifice something of equal value in return for what you got. If you transmuted a pound of concrete into a sword, the density remained, and it assumed a swordlike shape.

" _That's the thing with Alchemy. You can use it to do just about anything and make all kinds of cool stuff."_ Lancer elaborated. What Lancer could create with his Alchemy was nothing short of amazing. He could transform his right arm's plates into a stabbing blade, make doors in walls and transmute metal into exotic weapons from an ancient nation called _Āryāvarta_. All of them had slight lines on their exquisite designs, and someone could mistake them for handmade items rather than ones synthesised on the fly.

" _So, boys. How was your trip?"_ A feminine, chipper and British-sounding voice cut into the conversation.

All pairs of eyes fell upon a woman donning a pink T-shirt and faded blue denim short-overalls striding over to join the group. Grey streaks ran through black hair plaited into a neck length plait, and curious silver eyes glanced at both men with lips curled into a smile. Alessandro whimpered, as the woman hopped over his prone form mid-stride and continued to walk onwards upon sneakered feet.

" _Oh, it went great! We found Lancer and Alessandro in no time."_ Boele chirped with excitement, while the overall-wearing woman fiddled with her braid, taking it up to her nose to smell it and passing her fingers over to tidy any knots. Alessandro pulled himself up into a sitting position so that he could listen and observe the ensuing conversation better.

" _Fine…. Could've been better if I didn't have to sit with him for three fucking hours!"_ Lancer jabbed a thumb at Assassin, sitting hunched on the porch and kept on making notes in his journal. Assassin scribbled away in the little leather journal with fervent zeal and no interest in the conversation occurring between the trio.

" _Assassin? Yeah, he's a bit weird if you ask me. But, who am I to judge?"_ Overalls gave a slight, quizzical shrug. If Assassin took offence to her words, he didn't show it and preoccupied himself with writing down who-knew-what. Alessandro was glad that Assassin showed some modicum of apathy towards the conversation; otherwise, he and Lancer would've been at each other's throats once more.

" _I don't believe we've met before, have we?"_ Lancer shifted his eyes away from Assassin to include both Boele and Overalls. The unshakeable feeling that he and Lancer had seen Overalls before plagued Alessandro, he swore that they'd encountered her a very long time ago. Yet, he couldn't remember when or where he saw her as no woman he knew possessed Overalls' physical appearance or mannerisms.

" _Oh yeah. I'm Caster."_ Overalls smiled a perfect-white-teeth smile and extended a hand towards Lancer.

" _Lancer. Nice to meet you."_ Lancer accepted Caster's handshake within the firm grasp of his right hand. His sleeve slid away to reveal the metal _vambrace_ -esque prosthesis it concealed, morning sunlight glinting off its shiny exterior. Awe shined in Caster's eyes as they raked over the appendage and Lancer tugged his hand away, pulling the sleeve back up with embarrassment blossoming on his face in scarlet patches.

" _Say. That's a spiffy-looking prosthetic you've got there."_ Caster noted, not with wild curiosity, more with mild interest. Boele spectated in pure fascination, wondering how such a small, young man ended up getting a metal forearm attached to his body in the first place. Only Alessandro knew the truth behind how his Servant got that replacement limb, one which Lancer had shared with a select few.

" _It's an Automail arm. A friend of mine made it for me after I lost my real one in an... accident."_ Lancer lingered on the word _"accident"_.

When he was younger Lancer and his brother, Alphonse tried reviving their mother with Alchemy called Human Transmutation. Things went south when Alphonse almost died, and Lancer sacrificed two limbs to save his sibling's soul. That would've crippled Lancer for life if it weren't for the help of family friends, who were also Automail mechanics and gave him Automail substitutes.

" _Can I have a look at it?_ " Caster said, her voice full of curiosity. Lancer looked down, and a shadow of hesitancy crossed his face. He clutched the Automail arm close to his side, as though it had gotten broken beyond repair. His boyish face grimaced into a frown, lost in his thoughts and staring at his Automail's gloved fingers.

" _Come on, don't be shy — I won't bite,"_ Caster murmured in soothing tones, coaxing Lancer to show his arm. Lancer drew in a deep sigh and rolled his sleeve up to the shoulder, putting the appendage on full display while holding it out in front of him. Caster circled Lancer with slow, precise steps and squinted eyes while her left hand's fingers skimmed over the limb's metallic contours and grooves if she were inspecting some priceless artefact.

" _Your friend did a bang-up job of making that Automail! Now that's what I call art!"_ Caster gushed, awe lacing her voice. Alessandro sat back and watched with amusement while Caster acted like a kid in a toy store. Never in his whole life had he seen an adult woman obsess over a mechanical arm in the same way one cooed over a newborn baby or puppy.

" _Thanks, she's one of the best Automail mechanics in the business. She makes some of the finest Automail around. The only problem is that she goes apeshit when I break her toys."_ Lancer's lips hinted at a smile at Caster for heaping praise upon the work of his female friend. It was rather evident that he was also pleased with Caster, not assuming that the friend wasn't a lover. Lancer made it very clear to anyone talking about his _"friend"_ that he had no romantic interest in her whatsoever (something that Alessandro found hard to believe).

" _From one gearheaded gal to another, I gotta say she's great at what she does! Where I'm from, if someone loses a limb, they pay top cred for a mechno-arm to replace it. But, they aren't that sleek or elegant as what you've got!"_ Caster's mouth flapped nonstop. Alessandro knew that prosthetics were getting more and more advanced with each day like limbs controlled by your muscles or eyes mimicking the retina's functions. He'd never thought that bionics would one day become commonplace in societies such as Caster's and Lancer's.

" _Oh, you're too kind!"_ smiled Lancer, free from the anxiety plaguing him before. Boredom settled over Alessandro, like a black emptiness stretching as far as he could see. Sure, listening to Caster and Lancer talk in a rather animated manner was fascinating, but the longer the conversation continued, the more his interest waned. Alessandro realised that he much, much more important things to do like finding his room and reclaiming his baggage.

" _Excuse me... Mr Boele? Could.. you please… help me... with my luggage and... escort me to my room?"_ Alessandro tried to formulate a response. He never liked asking people for help, because he always feared that they say _"no"_ or deem him a burden. Even though no one never showed such attitudes, Alessandro knew that deep down, they considered him a spineless weakling with no reason to go on living.

" _As you wish,"_ Boele went around to the car's boot and prised it open. The lid sprung open as Boele reached in to pull out Alessandro's suitcase. The case clattered to the ground, and Alessandro cringed, hoping that the many linguistic books held inside remained undamaged. Boele extended the luggage's carrying handle and wheeled it to the porch, making it bump up and down.

Boele lugged the case up the stairs, trying not to hit Assassin or Alessandro with it. He grunted with exertion as he pulled over each step, one at a time. When Boele cleared the final step, he looked like he was ready to faint thanks to doubling over with a sweat-drenched face and knees trembling with exhaustion.

" _Are you alright, Mr Boele?"_ Alessandro offered his handkerchief to the older man. The Belgian accepted the handkerchief and rubbed his face with it, before returning it to Alessandro. Alessandro shoved the moist rag into a pocket as Boele got back up and grabbed ahold of the suitcase's handle once more.

" _Just feeling my age... Now, let's find your room."_ Boele puffed, walking straight into the ornate front entrance. Alessandro walked through the entranceway and began examining the house's interior.

A stylish _décor_ of abstract sculptures and vibrant, rugged landscape portraits pressed close to pearl-white walls enthralled his eyes. The spacious hall's vaulted barrel ceiling and double colonnade of Corinthian columns were works of art in themselves. A mural painted in pastel tones covered the roof's expanse helped to give the hall a bigger, more open feel.

From a central point in the roof hung a golden chandelier and delicate pieces of glass shimmered as light glistened through them. Brown wooden stairs with regal red carpet running down it rose up from black-and-white checkered marble. The hall split into two rooms at the stairs: a living room furnished with elegant furniture to the left while the one on the right presented a maroon oblong dining table that could seat fourteen people.

" _Don't dawdle. You can check out the place later."_ Boele chided. Alessandro broke out of an almost euphoric trance and waddled over to Boele, who now stood at the bottom of the stairs. He hoped that Boele wouldn't lead him to an upstairs room, which would give him sleep-depriving nightmares of a roof over his bed, cracking apart and crushing him in his sleep.

Their feet _clippety-clopped_ against polished marble, as Boele, lead Alessandro past the stairs down a much smaller passageway devoid of the hall's decorative trappings. The duo stopped at a series of blank gold-handled doors set into azure frames, and Boele pulled a key from his pocket that he slid into a keyhole.

" _Well, here's your room. I hope it's to your liking."_ Boele opened the door and took the suitcase with him into Alessandro's room. He flipped on the wall switch, which turned a small bedside lamp. The room was quite sparse with only a burgundy draped king-size bed, dark walnut bed stand, matching drawer chest and large closet perfect for storing clothes.

" _The bathroom is three doors down the hall to your right, and the kitchen is nearby in case you're hungry. If you need anything, I'll be upstairs taking a nap."_ Boele turned on his heels and left the room, footsteps fading away into the hall. Alessandro staggered a few steps forward before collapsing onto the bed, sinking into the soft fabric. His eyes drifted to a window overlooking a distant yet placid Bratsk Reservoir - the world's second most volumetric reservoir and twice the size of Hong Kong.

The rural commune of Novaya Uda sat near the reservoir with wooden houses clumped together like mushrooms. Its sole claim to fame was it where a young Ioseb Jughashvili, AKA Josef Stalin got exiled to in 1903. During his Bolshevik days, Stalin urged his Marxist brethren in the Georgian port city of Batumi to abandon their jobs and riot against Tsar Nicholas II.

Stalin soon found himself imprisoned, as he had many times before getting relocated from prison to prison and ending up in Novaya Uda. Siberian exile was one of the worst punishments that a criminal or political radical could receive and terrible abuse of Tsarist power: dull, lonely and bleak. Once settled in the godforsaken village, Stalin lived in the larder of a peasant's ramshackle house where he abided by strict rules governing his interactions with the natives.

But, that didn't stop him from trying to escape with varying degrees of success. The first failed, as Stalin only managed to run off to Balagansk before frostbite chilled his extremities and forced him to return to Novaya Uda. His second saw Stalin bundle up in furs and arm himself with a sabre to return to his native Georgia, where he co-edited the Marxist newspaper, _Proletariatis Brdzola_ alongside Philip Makharadze, Alexander Tsulukidze, M. G. Tskhakaya and Stepan Shahumyan.

Alessandro didn't know how long he laid on his bed for, while golden afternoon light filtered through the window. The urge to explore his new home surged within him and cut into his consciousness. Risking a glance over at his still-standing suitcase, Alessandro decided that he would unpack it later when he had finished looking around.

The tingles of blood flowing back into his legs, energised Alessandro, as he stumbled onto his feet. He envisioned a mental map of the very hallway that Boele lead him down while stepping outside of his room and shimming around the suitcase. Alessandro retraced his steps that he had taken towards until he ended up back to the magnificent stairs situated in the mansion's entrance hall.

The living room nearby awaited him, which was an oblong space with a grand fireplace and bookshelves reaching into the ceiling. Turkish rugs covered the hardwood floor. Prints and paintings hung on the walls. Elegant mahogany sofas and armchairs sat around a coffee table in a square with a pool table sitting in the room's upper right corner. Sunlight streamed through a lofty square window of plain white glass to illuminate the room.

Only a lithe Japanese girl in her mid-teens occupied the room, sitting on a sofa and reading a book. Pale blue hair cropped in a bob framed her gaunt, blank face and glazed, dead eyes with crimson irises. A vacuum-tight white and black-trimmed bodysuit covered her from neck to toe with a red collar, orange lines on the shoulders and heavy wristbands encircling her wrists. Those and two strange green-tipped bars on the lower ribs were the only parts of the suit that didn't cling to her body.

Something was off about her — that caused the blood in Alessandro's heart to race straight down to his legs, making them stick to the floor. He had a gut feeling there was more to the girl than met the eye and didn't need to be Sherlock Holmes to know that she wasn't human. She had a supermodel's good looks and an ordinary physique—in decent shape, but those lifeless orbs skimming over the book's pages lacked even a fraction of humanity.

" _Klonierungsgenetik In Biotechnologie... must be a real page-turner, huh?"_ Alessandro read the book's spinal title out loud, hoping to ease his nerves and make a good impression as he came into the room. The cover title engraved in worn silver was a much longer indecipherable one: _Klonierungsgenetik In Biotechnologie: Prinzipien Und Methoden Für Genetischen Transfer_ und Veränderung. German wasn't a language he was very familiar with or had analysed in great depth, making him suspect that he botched the pronunciation of some words.

" _It is, actually."_ The girl answered in a soft, unemotional monotone. Alessandro glimpsed pages upon pages of complex circular and triangular diagrams that her fingers flicked through. She shut the book with a clap and looked up at Alessandro, those blood-coloured eyes of hers scrutinizing him with laser-sharp intensity. Maybe trying to strike up a conversation with her wasn't such a good idea after all.

" _Uh... what's it about?"_ Tension coiled around Alessandro's ribs, tighter and tighter. He hoped that something stupid wouldn't come out of his mouth and come across as a collection of non-sequiturs. All the same, a small element of uncertainty lingered in his mind, jumping through it like a trained horse.

" _The book details underlying particular cloning vectors and their uses in the field of biotechnology. It is rather fascinating,"_ She went on in that flat, inflectionless voice with little change of expression — the tone of a sleepwalker with every word from her mouth sounding calculated and scripted. Blunette wore the cold, impassive, bored look of someone who found engaging in small talk with strangers a waste of time and energy.

" _That very sounds interesting."_ Alessandro tried to concentrate on the technical jargon spewed from Blunette's lips. He stared dead-eyed at her, trying to comprehend the gibberish ricocheting through his mind at lightspeed. He conceded that he didn't have the slightest idea of what she was saying.

Blunette opened her mouth to continue speaking and then closed it, without saying a word. The tumultuous _creak_ of wooden steps trying to support an immense weight cut her off. Someone or something was coming downstairs. Both Alessandro and Blunette craned their heads towards the staircase as the noise's source came into full view.

Alessandro's eyes locked on a heavyset man clad in a sleeveless navy chambray shirt, faded blue denim cutoff shorts and sockless white boat shoes. Gold framed Aviator glasses obscured his eyes and sat upon the nose of a scar-lined, lantern-jawed face with flame-red hair cropped close to his scalp. He held a chrome Desert Eagle Mark XIX in his right hand and a magazine in the other while a well-worn, brown leather satchel half-opened dangled from its wrist.

Behind him, trailed a figure who stood much taller than the redhead-headed man did—at least seven feet tall, perhaps eight. Muscles far bigger than those of the greatest bodybuilder bulged under a tight black, skin-tight body-covering outfit similar to a wetsuit with military green armour plates adhering to it. Matching headgear that looked like a futuristic motorcycle helmet with an orange polarised visor mirroring its surroundings hid the face.

The person's large hands held a sleek black tablet projecting the small royal blue hologram of a slim naked young woman with dark hair cut in a simple, feminine bob. Curved black geometric lines and complex circuity crawled all over her body from the collarbone down to her feet while hiding her most intimate parts. Alessandro saw a glint in the woman's dark indigo eyes hinting at vast intelligence with full lips pressing together in an annoyed pout.

" _Forget about it! There's no way you're taking all of that with you!"_ The woman pointed at the bag dangling from Redhead's left arm. In contrast to Redhead, who moved down two steps at a time, Helmethead took a more cautious approach and took one step at a time like they feared that the stairs would give way at any second.

" _Oh, come on, Cortana. I'm just prepping for some light recon."_ Redhead cajoled, in a thick Australian drawl. He eyed his Desert Eagle, weighing it in his palm and fondling its soft synthetic rubber grip. That thing looked as though it could bring down a grizzly bear in one shot and Redhead's arms seemed strong enough to resist the intense recoil it produced.

" _Then why are you packing a bullpup assault rifle, a sawn-off over and under shotgun, a machete, a load of grenades and the world's powerful semi-automatic handgun?!"_ Cortana started ticking off each weapon with her fingers, starting with the thumb. From the brief list that she provided, Cortana made it sound like Redhead armed himself to the teeth with enough weapons to take on a small army.

" _I want to be prepared."_ was the curt answer Redhead gave. He slipped his magazine into the pistol, pressed the slide back to peek into its breech and let it snap forward: locked and loaded. Redhead then slid the gun slid into the satchel with practised precision, barrel first and did up the satchel's claps as he cleared the final step.

" _Oh ... hey, kiddo. Didn't see you there."_ Redhead greeted Alessandro with a welcoming wave and toothy crocodilian smile, stepping into the living room. Alessandro's mind blanked for a moment with alarm, trying to envision the appropriate response. In his mind's eye, letters packed together to form words, before interlocking with more words to create the desired sentence.

" _Don't mind me. I was only having a chat."_ Alessandro somehow managed a smile, a weak smile, a smile without any actual mirth behind it, but a smile nonetheless. He hoped that he didn't come across as tongue-tied with embarrassment in front of the much more confident Australian.

" _With Rider? Try not to get your hopes up, but she won't talk unless she's got something to say. Either she doesn't want to, or she's shy—I can't figure out which."_ Cortana scratched the back of her holographic head in confusion. Rider reopened _Klonierungsgenetik In Biotechnologie_ and kept paging through the book as if nothing unusual happened. Rider seemed to share two things in common with Alessandro: a disdain for chitchat and incredible difficulty interacting with strangers.

" _How're you liking Siberia so far, eh?"_ From what Siberia had shown Alessandro so far, he was very impressed by what it offered. The area's lush forests differed from Sicily's mountains while domed churches embodying Byzantine architecture replaced Sicilian ones representing the Baroque, Norman, Gothic-Catalan and Rococo styles. He looked forward to exploring more of the region and learning about its history during his two-month-long stay.

" _It's great. Beautiful scenery, great weather, fabulous roads— what more could you ask for?"_ Alessandro tried to sound enthusiastic and met Redhead's shades-covered stare with an unsteady gaze of his own.

" _Could do without the boars, wolves and bears though. But, luckily, there aren't any snakes, spiders, dingos or crocodiles crawling all over the joint like in Australia."_ Cortana responded, her voice dripping with sugar-coated sarcasm laced with a dose of bitterness.

" _Alessandro... is it? My name is Raginald Gerwulf, and it's a real pleasure making your acquaintance."_ Raginald extended a meaty hand to Alessandro, which he shook in once up, and once down. Raginald's grip was bone-crushing firm, and his hand had the toughness acquired by decades of hard work.

" _Nice... meeting you. Mr... Gerwulf."_ Alessandro dipped his head in reply. He envied how Raginald conducted himself in a cool, calm, and collected manner despite his relaxed, informal demeanour. Why couldn't he be like that around other people and radiate such confidence without pretending?

" _Please, call me Rag. The guy over there is my Servant, Archer, a crack shot with just about any gun you put in his hands and a fucking expert at blowing shit up."_ Raginald gestured towards the man who stood behind him and kept silent throughout the entire conversation.

" _Archer of Themis, at your service,"_ Archer said, with a smooth, masculine baritone. He straightened up and executed in a quick, crisp manner, a left-hand salute with the tablet projecting Cortana's body held right in front of him. Cortana rolled her eyes into the back of her nonexistent head out of mock exasperation.

" _And who is... she?"_ Alessandro pointed at Cortana and tried to avert his eyes away from her sizeable bust, which she did not attempt to hide whatsoever. Cortana perked up with a cat-ate-the-canary grin, looking interested in Alessandro for the first time with her chest thrust out and arms folded behind her.

" _UNSC AI Serial Number CTN 0452-9, but everyone calls me Cortana for short. I'm Archer's partner in crime, sidekick or whatever you wanna call me. I deal in all things tech, and if you want to hack some top-secret military network or jack an alien spaceship, then I'm your gal!"_ Wicked amusement flickered across Cortana's face as Alessandro crossed his legs, doing what he could to hide the embarrassing bulge between them. Blood flooded into his semi-erect penis, and its foreskin peeled back from a sensitive fleshy glans, making him shiver with arousal.

" _That's... an interesting device… you've got there."_ Alessandro hoped to steer clear of the current conversation and on to a less awkward topic as the tablet displaying Cortana's figure. He didn't know of any sort of tablet computer that could create detailed holograms of having full-fledged personalities enabling them to converse and interact with humans.

" _This thing? It's a portable holoprojector that Caster made for me, that jacks into anything electronic wirelessly or the old-fashioned way and has unlimited, high-speed Internet access. Which lets me see what's going on in the world.'_ ' The A.I's lips curved in the ghost of a smile while explaining the tablet's capabilities with the enthusiasm of a kindergartner who had something special to share for show-and-tell. Despite seeming to have a few screws short of a full box, Caster knew her way around technology thanks to her fascination with it.

" _Rag, I hate to ask you a stupid question, but do you know where everyone else is?"_ Silence reigned in the living room, as Alessandro collected his thoughts and anticipated Raginald's reaction. He didn't expect the mansion to be quiet, desolate and devoid of human activity like an undisturbed tomb. Everyone else must have gotten sick and tired of waiting for him and Lancer to arrive, so they decided to go off without them.

" _They're scouting out Team Kakia's residence while some of us stayed back to hold down the fort. Don't fret; they'll be back soon and then, we're gonna discuss our next move."_ Raginald placed a hand on Alessandro's left shoulder, noticing disappointment flood the young man's face. It was nice to know someone understood how he felt, even though they were a complete and utter stranger.

Right then, a fit and trim tanned man in his late twenties, paced into the massive hall past the open door with a swagger, lackadaisical and nonchalant as if he hadn't a worry in the world. He dressed light in beige cotton slacks and comfortable loafers with a white open-neck shirt while his thick black hair slicked back into a large ducktail. The man's relaxed attitude showed in his gaze: calm grey eyes set in a noble face whose aquiline features could have been harsh without the innate friendliness informing his open manner.

Another man followed after him, sporting facial features implying East Asian descent, compared to those of his companion's which suggested Eastern European ancestry. He garbed in a red-flowered Hawaiian shirt while a Nikon D850 camera dangled from the neck, dark green cargo shorts, and leather sandals, which made him look like a stereotypical tourist. A serene look played on his boyish face as he took in everything around him and a single strap duffle orange bag jostled about with each step he took.

" _Speak of the devil…"_ Cortana mused, while Archer snapped to attention, and offered a crisp salute to the newcomers. Alessandro uncrossed his legs and tore away from Raginald's grip to face the newcomers, hoping that they wouldn't notice his erection.

" _And he shall appear!"_ Slacks finished in a very strong Polish accent and with a cocky grin splitting his face.

" _Ah, Jingyi and Mścisław, how did your little reconnaissance mission go?"_ Raginald eyed the two new arrivals and looked relaxed, almost at ease.

" _Pretty good. Kakia had no idea that we were watching them or studying their home's defences."_ Mścisław reported. He brushed several stray yellow leaves from his shoulder, full of holes and shook a few more out of his hair.

" _Let's keep it that way. The less they know about our activities, the better."_ was the curt reply Jingyi gave, before turning his attention to Alessandro, looking him up and down. "And I assume that this young Alessandro."

" _In the flesh."_ Cortana came to the rescue, saving Alessandro the misery of talking. He breathed with relief that he wouldn't have to talk again.

" _You'll want to fetch your fourth letter 'cause we'll open them when Engvald shows."_ Mścisław started towards the stairs to fetch his letter with Jingyi close behind.

" _One step ahead of you guys."_ Raginald brandished a thin, small and wrinkled envelope out of his satchel. A golden _"4"_ embossed its centre while a wax seal enchased with a stylised letter _"F"_ kept the envelope shut pulsated green energy. The seal in question was a Binding Seal, Magecraft imbued into Raginald's letter to ensure that it stayed unread until Raginald fulfilled the instructions of the previous one.

" _And while you're at it, can you please get Authur and Boele to come down? Those two need to be brought up to speed right away on everything—and I mean everything."_ Raginald slid down into an armchair, as the duo vanished up the staircase. Archer ducked under the door frame, set Cortana's tablet down onto the table with ceremonial slowness before moving behind Raginald's chair and folding his arms behind him.

Alessandro plonked onto a sofa facing Rider, Raginald, Cortana and Archer, leaning back into its soft cushions which enveloped him like quicksand. He sat back and crossed one leg over the other, trying to relax in front of his teammates who preoccupied themselves in different ways. Raginald drummed fingers against an armrest; Rider continued to read with absolute focus, Cortana sat cross-legged with eyes shut in deep thought, and Archer stood statue-still.

Not one minute sooner, Assassin walked into the living room accompanied by his cloying scent and sat in an armchair near Raginald's to keep writing as everyone ignored him. Raginald clapped a hand over his nose, pulled an air freshener can out of his satchel and sprayed its contents. Three serious-faced men walked into the space, who mumbled greetings before all filing in around the table and taking their seats.

One man had a slender build wearing a white tank top, blue board shorts and sandals, who swung a distasteful look at Assassin that said _oh—you again_. Platinum grey hair half-hid a chalk-white face handsome in a feminine way with blue eyes betraying contempt for the masked Servant. The crushing contempt of having to be near someone that he flat out despised, loathed, atomic rage hated and many other hate-related words eluding Alessandro.

Gray Hair's companion was muscular, costumed in a grey wifebeater showing box-like shoulders attached to massive biceps and milk-tinged stretch shorts covering well-toned legs. A small silver cross hanging from a silver chain encircled his thick neck, which connected to a smooth, boxy, tanned face with crew-cut blonde hair, a deep-cleft chin and sharp, turquoise eyes. He and Gray Hair moved towards the sofa opposite Rider with the grace of big cats ready to spring.

The third man adorned himself in red and white clothing comprised of a camp-collar shirt, Bermuda shorts and thongs. Tight bands of thick leather pulled back chocolate brown neck-length hair and held it away from his shoulders. Several days of beard stubble covered a face haggard and weary from lack of sleep besides a thin goatee. Fatigued green eyes observed his right hand flip a kopek into the air nonstop, watching it whirl over and over until landed into an outstretched palm.

" _At ease, Archer,"_ Raginald commanded, as Archer saluted the newcomers before going to parade rest. The Australian withdrew a slender cigar and cigarette lighter of the flip-top variety from a pocket, as the trio found their seats.

" _You boys don't mind if I smoke, do you?"_ he asked, sticking the cigar between his lips. Silence was the only answer to his question, a deep, impenetrable silence perpetuated by the room's occupations, all appearing lost in their little worlds and isolated from each other.

" _Guess that's a no."_ Raginald lit the cigar, and a steady stream of grey smoke escaped from his lips, which engulfed him. Alessandro almost screeched when he felt a firm hand on his shoulder and almost fell off the sofa when turned around to find Lancer standing behind him.

" _I hate to sneak up on you, Aless, but do you know where I can find your fourth letter?"_ Lancer queried. He glanced at Alessandro with regret at the unintended terror he had induced in his Master.

" _In... my luggage. First room... on the right... down the hallway. Can't... miss it."_ Alessandro gibbered with fear, trying to suppress his terror and avoid appearing weak before his teammates. He hated to think that everyone else around him saw him as a timid, yellow-bellied coward who got intimidated by his Servant alarming him.

" _Thanks,"_ Lancer's body broke up into a thousand glittering sparks of light the second he thanked Alessandro. His smiling flesh-and-blood face faded away into the nothingness from which it came within a blink.

At that moment, Jingyi, Boele and Mścisław walked in to find their seats while holding letters like Raginald's. Jingyi carried his lone duffel bag in one hand, and Alessandro's imagination ran wild with what lay inside the canvas treasure chest. Spy stuff, right? Cameras and recording equipment? Truth serums, poisons, and more? Or maybe enough weapons and ammunition, whether they be swords or guns for Jingyi to wage a guerrilla war alone?

An old man followed the trio decked out in walnut-shaded hiking gear composed of Brise pants, Moab 2 Ventilators and Sahara shirt with a mop of grey hair and bushy eyebrows, their salty colour showing his age. His posture so ramrod straight that he looked like a first-year military cadet in lieu of someone several years from retirement. Warm brown eyes blazed with a keen intelligence that surveyed everything before them.

" _Well, if it isn't the man of the hour,"_ Cortana commented with dry amusement. The AI stirred from the _padmāsana_ position she sat in and uncrossed slender legs in a heartbeat, as she got back onto her feet.

" _That's me."_ The man, who Alessandro presumed to be Engvald, chuckled and flashed a killer smile in response. Cortana's sarcasm was not lost on him.

" _How was your little hike?"_ Raginald asked, looking at Engvald and inhaled a deep drag on his cigar.

" _Same as always, I suppose,"_ Engvald answered with a distinctive Austrian accent, removing a brown, single strap backpack from his back.

" _How come you do it every day if it's always the same?"_ Raginald shrugged, confusion in his eyes.

" _It's something my father, and I used to do together. Just got in the habit, I suppose. He said that it keeps the mind and body sharp."_ Engvald intoned, almost in meditation.

" _Too bad that you never let Rider tag along in case Kakia's goons come a-calling. It's like sending a flare saying: "I'm defenceless! Please rearrange my pasty German face!"_ Raginald pantomimed with an overexaggerated Austrian accent and threw up his hands in mock horror. Sniggers rang out around the room at the Australian's comical imitation of his Austrian teammate. Alessandro stifled a laugh, not wanting Engvald to know that he found Raginald's antics hilarious.

" _Ehh, not really. I've been triangulating Engvald's phone non-stop, and if anyone tries to whack him, he can press a special button on the phone, and the cavalry comes charging in."_ Cortana flipped her hair back and smiled in a coy fashion almost as a sexual allure.

" _So, are we all here, then?"_ Engvald asked, finding a seat to the left of Rider's sofa.

" _Not yet. We're waiting for Caster and Lancer to get here. Then we'll get the ball rolling."_ Jingyi shifted forward in his seat and gave Engvald his undivided attention.

All of a sudden Caster barged inside the living room like an express train. She turned left with both arms extended and her body parallel to the floor, before bending her left leg and driving down and around to redirect her momentum. Caster extended the left leg to launch herself into a butterfly twist with her straight right leg and arms arching behind her back.

Alessandro's jaw dropped wide open, as time seemed to slow down, then almost stop while Caster corkscrewed mid-flight over the coffee table. Her braid streamed behind her if it were a rope of hair as she kept her body flat while flying towards a vacant chair near Coin Flipper. A second before colliding with the chair, Caster pulled her right leg down to catch her body weight as she landed, spinning into the chair and adopting a slouched sitting posture with a feline smile curving her lips.

Not a second later, Lancer trudged in and ignored everyone's bewildered looks, clutching Alessandro's fourth letter in his metal hand. He palmed Alessandro the envelope, and Alessandro mouthed a _"thank you"_ as Lancer made his way towards a seat to Alessandro's right.

" _Huh. Guess you spoke too soon."_ Mścisław mused with a sardonic smirk, breaking the ice premating the room. Coin Flipper quivered and looked ready to cry, burying his face in both hands.

" _Before we get down to business, I think it's best if we give Alessandro and Lancer a quick rundown of who we are and what we specialise in,"_ Boele announced, jumping straight out of his chair.

" _Floor's yours, big guy."_ Mścisław encouraged, nodding in agreement with Boele's words. Boele's lips thinned, his face taut and tense, as he sucked in a fresh lungful of air before sweeping a hand around the room if he were drawing a circle.

" _Mścisław Dobrogost, spymaster. Engvald Brasseur, team physician and Hard Light user. Raginald Gerwulf, weapons specialist and Runemaster. Arthur Schopenhauer, Enochianist. Jingyi Yijun, close-quarters combat expert and Qì practitioner."_ With each sweep of the hand, Boele cited a name and pointed at its owner in rapid sequence, before listing their skills, one after one after another. Boele's hand swept aloft if it conducted some esoteric, unseen concerto.

" _Cultural stereotyping, much?"_ Cortana muttered.

" _And as for me? I'm the resident parkourist and kinetikinetic. But what you, Alessandro? What do you bring to the table?"_ Boele plopped back down into his chair, falling into a complacent silence and thirteen pairs of eyes fixed on Alessandro. Boele was in mighty great physical shape for a man of his age, and Alessandro doubted that he would have trouble performing any of parkour's demanding manoeuvres.

Alessandro's mind then turned to a more important subject at hand: the question Boele presented. The Agapito Clan practised Witchcraft known as _Stregoneria_ passed down from generation to generation in particular Italian and Southern European Magi families. Much to Alessandro's misfortune, however, he was a mediocre _stregone_ overshadowed by his six other siblings, who knew over a thousand ways to heal or harm someone through supernatural means.

Yet, Alessandro held a trump card in the form of an antique tome filled with pages of nonsensical formulae, incoherent notes and spells. The only thing coherent about the book, however, was the dark power these writings held and promised to readers. Its name was _Liber Juratus Honorii_ or the _Sworn Book of Honorius_ , which had no relation to the Roman Emperor Honorius and was written by one Honorius of Thebes.

The _grimore_ originated from a meeting of 811 Masters of Magic from occult hotspots across Europe: Naples, Athens, Toledo, and Thebes. They chose Honorius to oversee the compilation of their knowledge into one text and create three copies. Only those who swore oaths and proved their loyalties for over a year could read them. The reason for this endeavour was the Magi's fears that the Catholic Church plotted to suppress them and burn their books.

 _Liber Juratus_ represented, then, a radical challenge to the Church, as Honorius declared that its magic followed Solomon's precepts. Surviving manuscripts consisted of prayers in a nonsensical mix of purported Chaldean and Hebrew, spirit names, circles, and stars. By following the instructions, Magi could have visions of God, Hell or Purgatory, obtain countless treasures and knowledge of all science.

Many _grimoires_ had controversial reputations, but _Liber Juratus Honorii_ was the most controversial of them all, thanks to a _"Trojan Horse"_ method of transmitting teachings on summoning Daemons. It claimed that the Church approved this daemonological text and proclaimed in an opening spiel: _"…I give unto thee the Keys of the Kingdom of Heaven, and unto thee alone the power of commanding the Prince of Darkness and his angels…"_. Subsequent Catholic authorities would use this spurious authorization as proof of daemonic trickery.

 _Liber Juratus Honorii_ described profane, complicated rituals revolving around the art of commanding Daemons manifested from the human psyche. These rituals let Alessandro summon Daemons by using wishes wrapped in the Sixth Imaginary Factor as catalysts. He could form pacts with a summoned Daemon in the same way as Familiars, and in exchange for feeding on his Mana, they acted like loyal guards.

" _I'm terribly sorry to disappoint but, I'm only a linguist, of the historical variety. I can't use Magecraft or throw a punch to save my life."_ Alessandro hung his head in shame and could not look up, because guilt and remorse held it down. Admitting his uselessness to everyone around pained him to no end along with having to lie and made a tremble vibrate in his bones. At the end of the day, though, he needed to keep his cards close to the vest so that his adversaries and allies would underestimate him.

" _The only reason you're here is that Forbes had low standards or needed to fulfil a diversity quota, probably because you're gay or retarded. Some shit like that."_ Snorted Coin-Flipper, now known to Alessandro as _"Arthur"_ who still flipped his coin, and watched it land. Alessandro scrunched his lips together and tried not to say anything that might further inflame or upset Arthur. The last thing he needed right now was sparking a heated debate about identity politics with a group of strangers.

" _So, this is the so-called... "diversity" that you westerners prattle on about."_ Jingyi said, making air quotes with his fingers as he said the word _"diversity"_. Much like Arthur, seemed to have no love for the very concept of intersectionality. Ironic given that he belonged to a group that intersectionality aimed to help, or so many a leftist claimed.

" _Not all of us. Just some fat, angry misandrist bulldykes who think that we straight white men are the root of all evil."_ Mścisław replied.

" _Hmph. I thought as much."_ Jingyi soliloquised. Alessandro breathed a sigh of relief, now that the politics-driven discussion had come to an end, everyone could focus on much more pressing topics.

" _Now that we all know each other,"_ Raginald huffed, smoke swirling around him _"Let's talk business."_

" _Well, Jingyi, Saber, Berserker and I went up to Kakia's residence to take a quick look-see and learn about what they were up to. Turns out that a Bounded Field surrounds the whole place. Shocker. But we managed to find a chink in its armour,"_ Mścisław reclined in his seat with an arm slung over the chair's back. It didn't shock him to learn that Kakia had set up a Bounded Field around their place, in the hopes of keeping out potential intruders.

Boele cocked his head as if to say, _"Continue."_ He paid rapt attention in an almost holy manner, anticipating every word Mścisław would say.

" _It's a simple trick that usually works because Magi don't look for it. A Prana current runs through the Field, and if anything bigger than a roe deer or a Magi with an unknown Od signature runs into it, they trigger an alarm and get immobilized. Something that you're better off leaving alone unless you can somehow cut through it as we did."_ Mścisław continued, lounging about without a care in the world. With those words, Alessandro bolted upright, baffled at how the duo managed to get past a Bounded Field without getting caught in it. Such a feat was borderline unfeasible, as one needed to have the sigils powering the barrier destroyed to ensure that it didn't regenerate.

" _You sound as if you speak from experience,"_ Alessandro said, knowing it was impossible.

" _I do,"_ Mścisław admitted with a nod.

" _How? I thought it was impossible to bypass a Bounded Field without destroying its sigils."_ Engvald inquired, vocalising Alessandro's thoughts.

" _I used this."_ Jingyi unzipped his duffel bag and placed it upon the coffee table for everyone to see. Alessandro found his eyes drawn to what lay inside of the bag: a cast tin-bronze _jian_ with a white jade hilt, crowned with a horned, snarling dragon head and studded with gold inlay. An emerald-studded sheath concealed the sword's blade, decorated with inlaid purple metal depicting land battles, naval battles, sieges, hunting, music performances and other rituals.

"Wait, is that..?" Arthur started, recognising the blade from somewhere. Alessandro stared at it, trying to identify Jingyi's _jian_ by cross-comparing it with and running through a mental index of the very few swords that he had seen before. His mind only mind drew empty blank after blank, as it failed to identify what lay before it.

" _Sure is,"_ Jingyi smiled, before zipping the bag back up and stowing it back near his chair. Alessandro struggled to grasp how a simple thing like a sword could cut through a Bounded Field. Such a reality remained inaccessible any regular Magi, according to what his studies at the Clocktower had taught him.

" _So, yeah, as I was saying. We all got past the Field before separating to scope things out. Jingyi found some strange creatures lurking to the north, while everyone else went off to see how much area the Field covered in the west, east and south. The damn thing goes on for several hundred meters."_ Mścisław continued speaking, his voice loud and clear with an air of self-confidence. It sounded as though that Kakia had wanted the group to come over to their place… so that they could walk right into a trap set for them.

" _Did you get a good look at any of these creatures? What did they look like?"_ Raginald shrugged. A mixture of emotions surged through Alessandro with mad intensity in rapid succession—horror, fascination, curiosity, and most of all, fear. It was a trap, all along, and they had walked into it.

" _They're all humanoid things with long, bladed tails, banana-shaped heads and smooth hides. I guess that they're Familiars that a Master uses as guard dogs. I took several photographs of them, which I'll print off later."_ Jingyi recounted in a nonchalant manner, unconcerned that he might have sprung a trap that could've killed him and his comrades. Yet, there was something familiar about how he described those creatures, which sparked a nagging feeling in Alessandro that he'd seen them before.

" _You sure you guys weren't caught snooping around? If Kakia found out about what you were doing, they'll come down on us like a ton of bricks."_ Cortana chimed in, with considerable concern and a tremor in her voice. Alessandro couldn't help but get alarmed at seeing her so worried after she behaved all happy-go-lucky and flirty not so long ago.

" _It just so happened that the house was empty. There were no signs of life, either outside or inside from what I could see. After that, we quickly hauled ass out of there and never looked back once."_ Mścisław spoke with all the emotional weight of ordering takeaway food. It mystified Alessandro how the Pole managed to recall every nerve-racking thing that occurred with absolute calmness. Uneasy quietness ruled the room for a few moments, as everyone consumed this information while remaining in stillness.

" _So, is this the part where we open our letters?"_ Raginald spoke, hoping to break the ice.

" _Pretty much."_ Boele wasted no time tearing into the paper surrounding his letter, and soon, the sound of ripping paper filled Alessandro's ears as everyone else ripped open theirs. Without a moment's hesitation, Alessandro imitated everyone else and watched brown paper fall away to reveal a palm-sized strip of paper.

" _Feel free to explore Irkutsk whichever way you wish. Take your time while exploring as the city has to offer much in the way of history and landmarks."_ Engvald read the letter's contents in a hushed voice of solemnity. The simple, straightforward instructions that Forbes had given Alessandro and everyone else were a sharp departure to the last two letters which went on for several pages, detailing what Alessandro and Lancer were and weren't supposed to do.

" _You know, I wasn't expecting to do something simple as 'walk around Irkutsk by yourself or with your teammates'."_ Cortana pondered, a look of mystification coming over her face.

" _Nothing's ever simple with Forbes. The man's mind is a puzzle within a puzzle, a maze within a maze. I wouldn't be surprised we're helping him fulfil some sort of ulterior motive."_ Arthur grumbled in apparent agitation, and his left hand grasped an armrest, turning his knuckles white.

" _How would you know?"_ Gray Hair interjected with a deep, gravelly voice contradicting his effeminate appearance.

" _I was once a student of his. You should know that by now."_ Arthur snapped, leaning so far forward he looked ready to leap out of his chair and onto Gray Hair.

" _Funny, because last time I remember, you weren't his personal psychologist"_ Gray Hair deadpanned, irritation creeping into his voice.

" _And neither were you. So do yourself a favour and shut the fuck up."_ Arthur's eyes blazed in anger, and his face flushed red. A small, purple vein in his forehead throbbed with every beat like a little neon sign. Alessandro almost flinched at the cold, smouldering fury he saw in his teammate's eyes. He wouldn't have been surprised if Arthur started to spit fire from his lips right now.

Engvald then stood up, zipped his bag open and tossed a walkie talkie to Alessandro. He yowled as the device landed in his lap, making him react as if an overgrown tarantula had appeared on it out of nowhere. One by one, walkie talkies sailed across space into the hands and laps of Alessandro's fellow Masters, which Engvald threw with a professional pitcher's speed and precision.

" _What's with the walkie talkies?"_ Mścisław fiddled about with a volume control on his walkie talkie, something to keep his hands occupied while he spoke.

" _We need to cover a lot of ground fast, and I can't think of any other way other than all of us splitting up. I want you to radio in every five minutes with these walkie talkies. If anything happens, call in. Any questions?"_ Engvald paced around the room, alert and edgy with fists clenched, shifting around a lot like he was uncomfortable or in a hurry. It was apparent that he was trying to play peacemaker and trying to defuse the escalating tensions threatening to birth an explosive argument.

Too bad that Assassin had to open his big mouth, right there and then.

" _Bad idea. Not safe to explore alone. Kakia could attack."_ he stated in that hoarse, thick voice of his.

The response was immediate. Half of the room erupted into cries of scorn, the other half into peals of laughter. Alessandro's cheeks flushed, even as his internal temperature rose by ten degrees. The room broke out into separate conversations of Servants and Masters conferring with each other, shock and indignation trembling in their murmuring voices.

Raginald and Archer stayed quiet; the Australian narrowed his eyes and tightened his jaw. He took a long draw on this cigar, the tip cherry-red hot, as he processed everything before speaking.

" _Don't be stupid. No Master or Servant would be dumb enough to attack you in broad daylight with lots of witnesses around. Besides, it'll look odd if we travel together."_ Raginald glared down Assassin as if he had questioned a fundamental law of the universe.

" _Wanna bet?"_ Assassin croaked out, hands balling into fists.

" _Much as I hate to say it, Assassin's got a good point."_ Caster stood up, all the while fingering her braid, twirling it round and round. Arthur made little effort in trying to suppress the scowl furrowing his burrow and rage colouring pale cheeks with deep crimson. He bared his teeth like a wild animal on the verge of attacking, which Alessandro took a good look at and made him swallow hard.

" _Think about it for a sec. We aren't the only ones with an Assassin in our corner, someone who specialises in killing Masters rather than Servants and stalking targets from a distance, thanks to a neat little party trick called Presence Concealment that lets them stay unseen."_

" _Which means that this whole time, an Assassin could've been following us, testing our defences and searching for weaknesses to exploit or even tailed you lot on your little jaunts. Heck, they could be standing next to you any of you... watching you... right now and biding their time – waiting until one of us drops their guard."_

" _So, on that note, we're better off sticking together. After all, there's safety in numbers."_ Caster's voice took on a dark, ominous tone, despite maintaining its cheerfulness. Alessandro didn't like it one bit, as it was a sure sign that she was a few fries short of a Happy Meal. Caster paused for dramatic effect and surveyed faces around her as if to gauge their reactions.

The looks on their faces ranged from worried to inscrutable while they grasped everything that Caster said. Everyone except Archer, who cleared his throat with a hoarse, scrapping cough, looked at Caster and the room fell silent. The Servant's mirrored, faceless visor reflected Caster's playful, smiling face as his met with hers.

" _Caster, with all due respect if an Assassin was tailing us, they could've killed us all one by one and Assassins aren't exactly known for their combat skills. Also, there's a Bounded Field surrounding this house, which means that nothing gets in or out of here without us knowing about it. We should go our own ways, as we'll only be dicking the dog."_ Archer maintained a distant and professional demeanour, as he spoke. His voice was ice-cold, its temperature having dropped a hundred degrees in an instant to the point that there wasn't any emotion mixed in it.

" _We're talking a city that covers 289 square klicks at most. It'll take time to shufti around an area that big together. We might as well split."_ Cortanapointed out, tapping a finger against her temple and her face creased in consternation.

" _I concur with Archer and Cortana. Assassin's and Caster's propositions are founded purely upon paranoid speculation. It would be more advantageous if we separated to explore Irkutsk, as it will make for faster exploration and make it difficult for this would-be Assassin to find us."_ Rider droned in that all-to-dreary manner.Something about her flat monotone and the hard, emotionless look in her eyes, sent a chill racing up Alessandro's spine. Sitting in the same room as her made him want to scream, cry and hide until those horrible thoughts disappeared.

" _I have to admit; Caster has a point. We don't know what we're up against or the odds of victory might be. We have no idea how our enemies operate, what they're capable of or what sort of Servants Forbes gave them. I say that we go to Irkutsk as a group."_ Jingyi hesitated as if to take great care in choosing his word, aware of the power and importance they held. A slight tremor of unease lingered in his voice, and his words shook a little.

" _You know, I never thought I'd see the day when you'd take tactical advice from a hobo who can't speak properly and a scrap-tinkering nutcase."_ Gray Hair scoffed in such a hostile manner he would have spat on Jingyi had he been any closer.

 _"A 'scrap-tinkering nutcase' who led her troops from one victory to the next and matched wits with the shrewdest of tacticians. I think you owe me an apology."_ Caster bristled in mock offence, arching both eyebrows and cushioning a palm on her chest.

" _You couldn't lead a parade!"_ Gray Hair shot back.

" _That's enough!"_ Crewcut fumed. His eyes squeezed shut, his hands clenched in white-knuckled fists at his sides. He shook as if he were in pain and everyone else took no heed of Crewcut's sudden, furious outburst.

" _And you couldn't even lead a Cub Scout troop, because you want us to split up without knowing if it's safe to do so. You're acting like we're in an episode of Scooby-Doo and not a very good one, to be honest."_ Caster countered, still wearing that smug, self-satisfied smirk. So sure of herself.

" _I said… THAT'S ENOUGH!"_ he repeated. Crewcut's eyes flashed open again. Confusion and more than a hint of madness reigned in them. The whole room went silent, waiting in expectation for what Crewcut would say.

" _The longer... we talk... the more Kakia gets... ahead of us! Let's... just put... this to... a vote and be done…. with it!"_ Crewcut choked out the words as though he was getting strangled, struggling to exert control over the anger boiling inside of him.

" _All those in favour of keeping together raise your right hand,"_ Boele commanded. To Caster's delight, seven hands shot up right away, including Alessandro's, but not all of them. Arthur in particular fondled with his coin with a sort of puzzled look.

" _And what about you, Arty? Where do you stand on this?"_ Caster queried.

" _I'll let my kopek decide. Heads, we'll go to separately; tails, we'll go as one."_ With that said, Arthur spun the coin into the air, leaving upon Alessandro's eyes the impression of a revolving sphere. Everyone watched with bated breath, as the _kopek_ flickered at the height of its rise, before plummeting back down into Arthur's waiting palm and Arthur slapped it onto his hand.

" _Heads it is,"_ Arthur announced, pulling himself out of his chair and starting for the stairs. His face slipped into a mask of flusteration while he climbed up the stairs.

" _Oh well... you win some, you lose some, I guess."_ Caster mumbled with disappointment, as she followed after Arthur.

" _Ok, people, let's get a move on! We leave in five, so get your shit and meet me at the car!"_ Raginald clapped, as everyone filed out of the room in a long, thin line. Archer's booming footsteps resounded through the room as he scooped up Cortana's pad and joined the queue's end behind Lancer. Alessandro listened to feet thump up wooden steps, taking two at a time as their owners surged up the staircase.

He rose to his feet, soles tingling as they took his weight, but he knew the feeling would soon subside. The tingling and stiffness would go away as movement forced the circulation of his blood. He resisted the urge to sit with perfect stillness and enjoy the mid-afternoon sunlight streaming into the room. After what he had gone through, he needed it, but there were more troubling issues at hand.

Alessandro headed towards the room's exit when he caught faint glimmers of light shining through the window. He drifted over to see a hazy blur contorted into a human-like shape touch a shimmering, opalescent wall before disappearing; not dissolving like a Servant assuming Spirit form, but gone, like a candle's flame. Alessandro almost jumped out of his skin and shuddered as the horrifying reality hit home with the force of a nuclear explosion: _Caster was right, Kakia was spying on us all along!_

Alessandro stumbled, almost landing face-first onto a rug, as he broke into a sprint towards the stairs. He had to warn everyone about the Servant that had stalked the team this whole time and planned on slaughtering them. Hot tears of terror rolled down his checks past his mouth while his feet pounded up the uncarpeted stairs.

They had to know about the threat that had lurked right on their doorstep.

Otherwise, there would be hell to pay.

 **Author's Notes:**

 **This chapter took me a while to write because I spent December to January with my family to travel around Europe and visit my ancestral homeland of** _ **Éire**_ **to celebrate** _ **Nollag**_ **with my mother's side of the family before stopping over in Hong Kong. I tried to get this chapter done before holidaying, but many factors prevented me from doing so.** _ **Meet And Greet**_ **went on for longer than expected, and I had to shorten the scene of Lancer and Caster meeting for the sake of pacing and to stop my brain from giving out from sheer boredom.**

 **While the two talked, Arthur and Alessandro were supposed to interact and get to know each other, hence the chapter's title. I intended to provide them with character development and contrast their differing personalities by having them play off each other. This sequence got scrapped because it reeked of padding and you already knew who Arthur was, along with fears that Arthur would come across as a douche.**

 **For any Russian readers living in the Irkutsk Oblast; I apologise for any grievous errors regarding my depiction of the region. I'm a dumb English and** _ **Gaeilge**_ **-speaking white boy living near the bottom of the world, and my knowledge on Irkutsk comes from various sources of questionable accuracy. If any of it is wrong, ascribe it to ignorance rather than maliciousness.**

 **Reviews are my lifeblood. If you enjoyed this chapter, please consider saying a few words about it, giving it a favourite or two and following it. Remember, reviews give me writing power!**

 **So that's it for now, I'll have more to talk about in the Author's Notes when we get some reviews in here.**


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